GIFT  OF 
a.    F.   Morrison 


A  LITTLE  BOOK 

OF 

PROFITABLE   TALES 


CAMEO  EDITION. 


REVERIES  OF  A  BACHELOR  ;  or,  a  Book  of  the  Heart.    By 
Donald  G.  Mitchell.    With  an  Etching  by  Percy  Moran 

DREAM  LIFE.    A  Fable  of  the  Seasons.     With  an  Etching 
by  Percy  Moran. 

OLD  CREOLE  DAYS.    By  George  W.  Cable.     With  an  Etch 
ing  by  Percy  Moran. 

IN  OLE  VIRGINIA.    By  Thomas  Nelson  Page.    With  an  Etch 
ing  by  W.  L.  Sheppard. 

SITTER-SWEET.    A  Poem.    By  J.  G.  Holland.    With  an  Etch 
ing  by  Otto  Bacher. 

KATHRINA.    A  Poem.    By  J.  G.  Holland.     With  an  Etching 
by  Otto  Bacher. 

LETTERS  TO  DEAD  AUTHORS.      By  Andrew  Lang.      With 
an  Etched  Portrait  by  S.  J.  Ferris. 

"VIRGINIBUS  PUERISQUE."    By  Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 
With  an  Etched  Portrait  by  S.  J.  Ferris. 

A  CHOSEN  FEW.     Short  Stories.     By    Frank    R.  Stockton. 
With  an  Etched  Portrait  by  W.  H.  W.  Bicknell. 

A  LITTLE  BOOK  OF  PROFITABLE  TALES.   By  Eugene  Field. 
With  an  Etched  Portrait  by  W.  H.  W.  Bicknell. 

THE    REFLECTIONS    OF   A    MARRIED    MAN.      By   Robert 
Grant.    With  an  Etching  by  W.  H.  Hyde. 

THE   OPINIONS   OF    A   PHILOSOPHER.     By   Robert  Grant. 
With  an  Etching  by  W.  H.  Hyde. 


Each,  one  volume,  16mo. 
Half  Calf,  g.t.,  $2.75;  half  levant,  $3.50;  cloth,  $1.25. 


A  LITTLE  BOOK  OF 
PROFITABLE  TALES 


BY 
EUGENE  FIELD 


WITH  AN  ETCHED  PORTRAIT  BY  W.   H.  W.  BICKNELL 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
1895 


Copyright,  1895,  by 
AFES-  SCRIBNER'S  SDKS 


THE   DEVINNE  PRESS. 


MY  SEVEREST  CRITIC,  MY  MOST  LOYAL  AD 
MIRER,  AND  MY  ONLY  DAUGHTER, 

MARY   FRENCH    FIELD, 

THIS   LITTLE   BOOK   OF   PROFITABLE   TALES    IS 
AFFECTIONATELY   DEDICATED. 

E.  F. 


M103538 


THE  TALES  IN  THIS  LITTLE  BOOK 


PAGE 

THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS  TREE         ....        3 
THE  SYMBOL  AND  THE  SAINT    ....  13 

THE  COMING  OF  THE  PRINCE         .         .         .         -27 
THE  MOUSE  AND  THE  MOONBEAM      ...  43 

THE  DIVELL'S  CHRYSTMASS    .        .         .         .         -63 
THE  MOUNTAIN  AND  THE  SEA  ....  73 

THE  ROBIN  AND  THE  VIOLET         .         .         .         .81 
THE  OAK-TKEE  AND  THE  IVY    ....  89 

MARGARET  :  A  PEARL    ......      97 

THE  SPRINGTIME 113 

RODOLPH  AND  HIS  KlNG         .....     123 

THE  HAMPSHIRE  HILLS    .....         131 

EZRA'S  THANKSGIVIN'  OUT  WEST  .         .         .         .141 

LUDVVIG  AND  ELOISE          .          .         .         .         .          157 

FIDO'S  LITTLE  FRIEND  ......     165 

THE  OLD  MAN          ......          181 

BILL,  THE  LOKIL  EDITOR       .         .•         .         .         .189 
THE  LITTLE  YALLER  BABY        ....          197 

THE  CYCLOPEEDY     ....         .         .         .     207 

DOCK  STEBBINS  ......         219 

THE  FAIRIES  OF  PESTH.         .....     229 


THE    FIRST   CHRISTMAS   TREE 


THE    FIRST   CHRISTMAS   TREE 


NCE  upon  a  time  the  forest  was  in  a 
great  commotion.  Early  in  the  even 
ing  the  wise  old  cedars  had  shaken 
their  heads  ominously  and  predicted 
strange  things.  They  had  lived  in  the  forest 
many,  many  years ;  but  never  had  they  seen  such 
marvellous  sights  as  were  to  be  seen  now  in  the 
sky,  and  upon  the  hills,  and  in  the  distant  village. 
"Pray  tell  us  what  you  see,"  pleaded  a  little 
vine;  "  we  who  are  not  as  tall  as  you  can  behold 
none  of  these  wonderful  things.  Describe  them 
to  us,  that  we  may  enjoy  them  with  you." 

"  I  am  filled  with  such  amazement,"  said  one 
of  the  cedars,  "  that  I  can  hardly  speak.  The 
whole  sky  seems  to  be  aflame,  and  the  stars  ap 
pear  to  be  dancing  among  the  clouds  ;  angels  walk 
down  from  heaven  to  the  earth,  and  enter  the  vil 
lage  or  talk  with  the  shepherds  upon  the  hills." 

The  vine  listened  in  mute  astonishment.  Such 
things  never  before  had  happened*.  The  vine 


4  PROFITABLE  TALES 

trembled  with  excitement.  Its  nearest  neighbor 
was  a  tiny  tree,  so  small  it  scarcely  ever  was 
noticed ;  yet  it  was  a  very  beautiful  little  tree,  and 
the  vines  and  ferns  and  mosses  and  other  humble 
residents  of  the  forest  loved  it  dearly. 

"  How  I  should  like  to  see  the  angels! "  sighed 
the  little  tree,  "  and  how  I  should  like  to  see  the 
stars  dancing  among  the  clouds !  It  must  be  very 
beautiful." 

As  the  vine  and  the  little  tree  talked  of  these 
things,  the  cedars  watched  with  increasing  inter 
est  the  wonderful  scenes  over  and  beyond  the  con 
fines  of  the  forest.  Presently  they  thought  they 
heard  music,  and  they  were  not  mistaken,  for  soon 
the  whole  air  was  full  of  the  sweetest  harmonies 
ever  heard  upon  earth. 

"  What  beautiful  music!"  cried  the  little  tree. 
"  I  wonder  whence  it  comes." 

"  The  angels  are  singing,"  said  a  cedar;  "  for 
none  but  angels  could  make  such  sweet  music." 

"  But  the  stars  are  singing,  too,"  said  another 
cedar;  "  yes,  and  the  shepherds  on  the  hills  join 
in  the  song,  and  what  a  strangely  glorious  song 
it  is!" 

The  trees  listened  to  the  singing,  but  they  did 
not  understand  its  meaning :  it  seemed  to  be  an 
anthem,  and  it  was  of  a  Child  that  had  been 
born ;  but  further  than  this  they  did  not  under 
stand.  The  strange  and  glorious  song  continued 
all  the  night ;  and  all  that  night  the  angels  walked 


THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS    TREE  5 

to  and  fro,  and  the  shepherd-folk  talked  with  the 
angels,  and  the  stars  danced  and  carolled  in  high 
heaven.     And  it  was  nearly  morning  when  the 
cedars  cried  out,  "  They  are  coming  to  the  for 
est!  the  angels  are  coming  to  the  forest! "     And, 
surely  enough,  this  was  true.     The  vine  and  the 
little  tree  were  very  terrified,  and  they  begged 
their  older  and  stronger  neighbors  to  protect  them 
from  harm.     But  the  cedars  were  too  busy  with 
their  own  fears  to  pay  any  heed  to  the  faint  plead 
ings  of  the  humble  vine  and  the  little  tree.     The 
angels   came   into  the  forest,   singing  the  same 
glorious  anthem  about  the  Child,  and  the  stars 
sang  in  chorus  with  them,  until  every  part  of  the 
woods  rang  with  echoes  of  that  wondrous  song. 
There  was  nothing  in  the  appearance  of  this  angel 
host  to  inspire  fear ;  they  were  clad  all  in  white, 
and  there  were  crowns  upon  their  fair  heads,  and 
golden  harps  in  their  hands ;  love,  hope,  charity, 
compassion,  and  joy  beamed  from  their  beautiful 
faces,  and  their  presence  seemed  to  fill  the  forest 
with  a  divine  peace.     The  angels  came  through 
the  forest  to  where  the  little  tree  stood,  and  gath 
ering  around  it,  they  touched  it  with  their  hands, 
and  kissed  its  little  branches,  and  sang  even  more 
sweetly  than  before.     And  their  song  was  about 
the  Child,   the  Child,   the  Child  that  had  been 
born.     Then  the  stars  came  down  from  the  skies 
and  danced  and  hung  upon  the  branches  of  the 
tree,  and  they,  too,  sang  that  song  — the  song  of 


6  PROFITABLE   TALES 

the  Child.  And  all  the  other  trees  and  the  vines 
and  the  ferns  and  the  mosses  beheld  in  wonder ; 
nor  could  they  understand  why  all  these  things 
were  being  done,  and  why  this  exceeding  honor 
should  be  shown  the  little  tree. 

When  the  morning  came  the  angels  left  the  for 
est —  all  but  one  angel,  who  remained  behind  and 
lingered  near  the  little  tree.  Then  a  cedar  asked, 
"  Why  do  you  tarry  with  us,  holy  angel?  "  And 
the  angel  answered,  "  I  stay  to  guard  this  little 
tree ;  for  it  is  sacred,  and  no  harm  shall  come  to 
it." 

The  little  tree  felt  quite  relieved  by  this  assur 
ance,  and  it  held  up  its  head  more  confidently 
than  ever  before.  And  how  it  thrived  and  grew, 
and  waxed  in  strength  and  beauty!  The  cedars 
said  they  never  had  seen  the  like.  The  sun 
seemed  to  lavish  its  choicest  rays  upon  the  little 
tree,  heaven  dropped  its  sweetest  dew  upon  it, 
and  the  winds  never  came  to  the  forest  that  they 
did  not  forget  their  rude  manners  and  linger  to 
kiss  the  little  tree  and  sing  it  their  prettiest  songs. 
No  danger  ever  menaced  it,  no  harm  threatened ; 
for  the  angel  never  slept  —  through  the  day  and 
through  the  night  the  angel  watched  the  little  tree 
and  protected  it  from  all  evil.  Oftentimes  the  trees 
talked  with  the  angel ;  but  of  course  they  under 
stood  little  of  what  he  said,  for  he  spoke  always 
of  the  Child  who  was  to  become  the  Master ;  and 
always  when  thus  he  talked,  he  caressed  the  little 


THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS    TREE  7 

tree,  and  stroked  its  branches  and  leaves,  and 
moistened  them  with  his  tears.  It  all  was  so 
very  strange  that  none  in  the  forest  could  under 
stand. 

So  the  years  passed,  the  angel  watching  his 
blooming  charge.  Sometimes  the  beasts  strayed 
toward  the  little  tree,  and  threatened  to  devour  its 
tender  foliage ;  sometimes  the  woodman  came  with 
his  axe,  intent  upon  hewing  down  the  straight 
and  comely  thing ;  sometimes  the  hot,  consuming 
breath  of  drought  swept  from  the  south,  and 
sought  to  blight  the  forest  and  all  its  verdure : 
the  angel  kept  them  from  the  little  tree.  Serene 
and  beautiful  it  grew,  until  now  it  was  no  longer 
a  little  tree,  but  the  pride  and  glory  of  the  forest. 

One  day  the  tree  heard  some  one  coming  through 
the  forest.  Hitherto  the  angel  had  hastened  to 
its  side  when  men  approached ;  but  now  the  angel 
strode  away  and  stood  under  the  cedars  yonder. 

"Dear  angel,"  cried  the  tree,  "can  you  not 
hear  the  footsteps  of  some  one  approaching  ?  Why 
do  you  leave  me?  " 

"  Have  no  fear,"  said  the  angel ;  "for  He  who 
comes  is  the  Master." 

The  Master  came  to  the  tree  and  beheld  it. 
He  placed  His  hands  upon  its  smooth  trunk  and 
branches,  and  the  tree  was  thrilled  with  a  strange 
and  glorious  delight.  Then  He  stooped  and  kissed 
the  tree,  and  then  He  turned  and  went  away. 

Many  times  after  that  the  Master  came  to  the 


8  PROFITABLE   TALES 

forest,  and  when  He  came  it  always  was  to  where 
the  tree  stood.  Many  times  He  rested  beneath 
the  tree  and  enjoyed  the  shade  of  its  foliage,  and 
listened  to  the  music  of  the  wind  as  it  swept 
through  the  rustling  leaves.  Many  times  He 
slept  there,  and  the  tree  watched  over  Him,  and 
the  forest  was  still,  and  all  its  voices  were  hushed. 
And  the  angel  hovered  near  like  a  faithful  sen 
tinel. 

Ever  and  anon  men  came  with  the  Master  to 
the  forest,  and  sat  with  Him  in  the  shade  of  the 
tree,  and  talked  with  Him  of  matters  which  the 
tree  never  could  understand ;  only  it  heard  that 
the  talk  was  of  love  and  charity  and  gentleness, 
and  it  saw  that  the  Master  was  beloved  and  ven 
erated  by  the  others.  It  heard  them  tell  of  the 
Master's  goodness  and  humility  —  how  He  had 
healed  the  sick  and  raised  the  dead  and  bestowed 
inestimable  blessings  wherever  He  walked.  And 
the  tree  loved  the  Master  for  His  beauty  and  His 
goodness  ;  and  when  He  came  to  the  forest  it  was 
full  of  joy,  but  when  He  came  not  it  was  sad. 
And  the  other  trees  of  the  forest  joined  in  its 
happiness  and  its  sorrow,  for  they,  too,  loved  the 
Master.  And  the  angel  always  hovered  near. 

The  Master  came  one  night  alone  into  the  for 
est,  and  His  face  was  pale  with  anguish  and  wet 
with  tears,  and  He  fell  upon  His  knees  and  prayed. 
The  tree  heard  Him,  and  all  the  forest  was  still, 
as  if  it  were  standing  in  the  presence  of  death. 


THE  FIRST  CHRISTMAS   TREE  9 

And  when  the  morning  came,  lo!  the  angel  had 
gone. 

Then  there  was  a  great  confusion  in  the  forest. 
Thers  was  a  sound  of  rude  voices,  and  a  clashing 
of  swords  and  staves.  Strange  men  appeared, 
uttering  loud  oaths  and  cruel  threats,  and  the  tree 
was  filled  with  terror.  It  called  aloud  for  the 
angel,  but  the  angel  came  not. 

"  Alas,"  cried  the  vine,  "  they  have  come  to  de 
stroy  the  tree,  the  pride  and  glory  of  the  forest! " 

The  forest  was  sorely  agitated,  but  it  was  in 
vain.  The  strange  men  plied  their  axes  with  cruel 
vigor,  and  the  tree  was  hewn  to  the  ground.  Its 
beautiful  branches  were  cut  away  and  cast  aside, 
and  its  soft,  thick  foliage  was  strewn  to  the  ten 
derer  mercies  of  the  winds. 

"  They  are  killing  me!"  cried  the  tree;  "  why 
is  not  the  angel  here  to  protect  me?  " 

But  no  one  heard  the  piteous  cry  —  none  but  the 
other  trees  of  the  forest ;  and  they  wept,  and  the 
little  vine  wept  too. 

Then  the  cruel  men  dragged  the  despoiled  and 
hewn  tree  from  the  forest,  and  the  forest  saw  that 
beauteous  thing  no  more. 

But  the  night  wind  that  swept  down  from  the 
City  of  the  Great  King  that  night,  to  ruffle  the 
bosom  of  distant  Galilee,  tarried  in  the  forest 
awhile  to  say  that  it  had  seen  that  day  a  cross 
upraised  on  Calvary  —  the  tree  on  which  was 
stretched  the  body  of  the  dying  Master. 

1884. 


THE    SYMBOL  AND   THE   SAINT 


THE    SYMBOL  AND  THE    SAINT 


NCE  upon  a  time  a  young  man  made 
ready  for  a  voyage.  His  name  was 
Norss  ;  broad  were  his  shoulders,  his 
cheeks  were  ruddy,  his  hair  was  fair 
and  long,  his  body  betokened  strength,  and  good 
nature  shone  from  his  blue  eyes  and  lurked  about 
the  corners  of  his  mouth. 

"  Where  are  you  going?  "  asked  his  neighbor 
Jans,  the  forge-master. 

"  I  am  going  sailing  for  a  wife,"  said  Norss. 

"For  a  wife,  indeed!"  cried  Jans.  "And 
why  go  you  to  seek  her  in  foreign  lands?  Are 
not  our  maidens  good  enough  and  fair  enough, 
that  you  must  need  search  for  a  wife  elsewhere? 
For  shame,  Norss!  for  shame!  " 

But  Norss  said,  "  A  spirit  came  to  me  in  my 
dreams  last  night  and  said,  '  Launch  the  boat 
and  set  sail  to-morrow.  Have  no  fear ;  for  I  will 
guide  you  to  the  bride  that  awaits  you.'  Then, 
standing  there,  all  white  and  beautiful,  the  spirit 


14  ,  .  PROFITABLE   TALES 

held  forih  a  symbol -v- such  as  I  had  never  before 
peen.—  ip  the  figure  of  a  cross,  and  the  spirit  said, 
5  B;v  ^hic'symboV'sball  ^e  oe'ltfjown  to  you.'  " 

""  if  this 'be  so,  ycu  must  netd  go,"  said  Jans. 
"But  are  you  well  victualled  ?  Come  to  my  cabin, 
and  let  me  give  you  venison  and  bear's  meat." 

Norss  shook  his  head.  "  The  spirit  will  pro 
vide,"  said  he.  "  I  have  no  fear,  and  I  shall  take 
no  care,  trusting  in  the  spirit." 

So  Norss  pushed  his  boat  down  the  beach  into 
the  sea,  and  leaped  into  the  boat,  and  unfurled  the 
sail  to  the  wind.  Jans  stood  wondering  on  the 
beach,  and  watched  the  boat  speed  out  of  sight. 

On,  on,  many  days  on  sailed  Norss  —  so  many 
leagues  that  he  thought  he  must  have  compassed 
the  earth.  In  all  this  time  he  knew  no  hunger 
nor  thirst ;  it  was  as  the  spirit  had  told  him  in  his 
dream  —  no  cares  nor  dangers  beset  him.  By  day 
the  dolphins  and  the  other  creatures  of  the  sea 
gambolled  about  his  boat ;  by  night  a  beauteous 
Star  seemed  to  direct  his  course;  and  when  he 
slept  and  dreamed,  he  saw  ever  the  spirit  clad  in 
white,  and  holding  forth  to  him  the  symbol  in  the 
similitude  of  a  cross. 

At  last  he  came  to  a  strange  country  —  a  coun 
try  so  very  different  from  his  own  that  he  could 
scarcely  trust  his  senses.  Instead  of  the  rugged 
mountains  of  the  North,  he  saw  a  gentle  landscape 
of  velvety  green ;  the  trees  were  not  pines  and 
firs,  but  cypresses,  cedars,  and  palms  ;  instead  of 


THE  SYMBOL  AND   THE  SAINT          15 

the  cold,  crisp  air  of  his  native  land,  he  scented 
the  perfumed  zephyrs  of  the  Orient;  and  the 
wind  that  filled  the  sail  of  his  boat  and  smote  his 
tanned  cheeks  was  heavy  and  hot  with  the  odor 
of  cinnamon  and  spices.  The  waters  were  calm 
and  blue  —  very  different  from  the  white  and 
angry  waves  of  Norss's  native  fiord. 

As  if  guided  by  an  unseen  hand,  the  boat 
pointed  straight  for  the  beach  of  this  strangely 
beautiful  land ;  and  ere  its  prow  cleaved  the  shal 
lower  waters,  Norss  saw  a  maiden  standing  on 
the  shore,  shading  her  eyes  with  her  right  hand, 
and  gazing  intently  at  him.  She  was  the  most 
beautiful  maiden  he  had  ever  looked  upon.  As 
Norss  was  fair,  so  was  this  maiden  dark;  her 
black  hair  fell  loosely  about  her  shoulders,  in 
charming  contrast  with  the  white  raiment  in  which 
her  slender,  graceful  form  was  clad.  Around  her 
neck  she  wore  a  golden  chain,  and  therefrom  was 
suspended  a  small  symbol,  which  Norss  did  not 
immediately  recognize. 

"  Hast  thou  come  sailing  out  of  the  North  into 
the  East?  "  asked  the  maiden. 

"  Yes,"  said  Norss. 

"  And  thou  art  Norss?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  am  Norss ;  and  I  come  seeking  my  bride," 
he  answered. 

"  I  am  she,"  said  the  maiden.  "  My  name  is 
Faia.  An  angel  came  to  me  in  my  dreams  last 
night,  and  the  angel  said,  '  Stand  upon  the  beach 


16  PROFITABLE    TALES 

to-day,  and  Norss  shall  come  out  of  the  North 
to  bear  thee  home  a  bride.'  So,  coming  here,  I 
found  thee  sailing  to  our  shore." 

Remembering  then  the  spirit's  words,  Norss 
said,  "  What  symbol  have  you,  Faia,  that  I  may 
know  how  truly  you  have  spoken?  " 

"  No  symbol  have  I  but  this,"  said  Faia,  hold 
ing  out  the  symbol  that  was  attached  to  the  golden 
chain  about  her  neck.  Norss  looked  upon  it, 
and  lo!  it  was  the  symbol  of  his  dreams  —  a  tiny 
wooden  cross. 

Then  Norss  clasped  Faia  in  his  arms  and  kissed 
her,  and  entering  into  the  boat  they  sailed  away 
into  the  North.  In  all  their  voyage  neither  care 
nor  danger  beset  them ;  for  as  it  had  been  told  to 
them  in  their  dreams,  so  it  came  to  pass.  By 
day  the  dolphins  and  the  other  creatures  of  the 
sea  gambolled  about  them ;  by  night  the  winds 
and  the  waves  sang  them  to  sleep  ;  and,  strangely 
enough,  the  Star  which  before  had  led  Norss  into 
the  East  now  shone  bright  and  beautiful  in  die 
Northern  sky! 

When  Norss  and  his  bride  reached  their  home, 
Jans,  the  forge-master,  and  the  other  neighbors 
made  great  joy,  and  all  said  that  Faia  was  more 
beautiful  than  any  other  maiden  in  the  land.  So 
merry  was  Jans  that  he  built  a  huge  fire  in  his 
forge,  and  the  flames  thereof  filled  the  whole 
Northern  sky  with  rays  of  light  that  danced  up, 
up,  up  to  the  Star,  singing  glad  songs  the  while. 


THE  SYMBOL  AND   THE  SAINT          17 

So  Norss  and  Faia  were  wed,  and  they  went  to 
live  in  the  cabin  in  the  fir-grove. 

To  these  two  was  born  in  good  time  a  son, 
whom  they  named  Claus.  On  the  night  that  he 
was  born  wondrous  things  came  to  pass.  To  the 
cabin  in  the  fir-grove  came  all  the  quaint,  weird 
spirits  —  the  fairies,  the  elves,  the  trolls,  the  pixies, 
the  fadas,  the  crions,  the  goblins,  the  kobolds,  the 
moss-people,  the  gnomes,  the  dwarfs,  the  water- 
sprites,  the  courils,  the  bogles,  the  brownies,  the 
nixies,  the  trows,  the  stille-volk — all  came  to  the 
cabin  in  the  fir-grove,  and  capered  about  and  sang 
the  strange,  beautiful  songs  of  the  Mist-Land. 
And  the  flames  of  old  Jans's  forge  leaped  up  higher 
than  ever  into  the  Northern  sky,  carrying  the  joy 
ous  tidings  to  the  Star,  and  full  of  music  was  that 
happy  night. 

Even  in  infancy  Claus  did  marvellous  things. 
With  his  baby  hands  he  wrought  into  pretty 
figures  the  willows  that  were  given  him  to  play 
with.  As  he  grew  older  he  fashioned,  with  the 
knife  old  Jans  had  made  for  him,  many  curious 
toys  —  carts,  horses,  dogs,  lambs,  houses,  trees, 
cats,  and  birds,  all  of  wood  and  very  like  to  nature. 
His  mother  taught  him  how  to  make  dolls,  too  — 
dolls  of  every  kind,  condition,  temper,  and  color ; 
proud  dolls,  homely  dolls,  boy  dolls,  lady  dolls, 
wax  dolls,  rubber  dolls,  paper  dolls,  worsted  dolls, 
rag  dolls  —  dolls  of  every  description  and  without 
end.  So  Claus  became  at  once  quite  as  popular 


i8  PROFITABLE   TALES 

with  the  little  girls  as  with  the  little  boys  of  his 
native  village ;  for  he  was  so  generous  that  he 
gave  away  all  these  pretty  things  as  fast  as  he 
made  them. 

Glaus  seemed  to  know  by  instinct  every  lan 
guage.  As  he  grew  older  he  would  ramble  off  into 
the  woods  and  talk  with  the  trees,  the  rocks,  and 
the  beasts  of  the  greenwood ;  or  he  would  sit  on 
the  cliffs  overlooking  the  fiord,  and  listen  to  the 
stories  that  the  waves  of  the  sea  loved  to  tell  him  ; 
then,  too,  he  knew  the  haunts  of  the  elves  and 
the  stille-volk,  and  many  a  pretty  tale  he  learned 
from  these  little  people.  When  night  came,  old 
Jans  told  him  the  quaint  legends  of  the  North, 
and  his  mother  sang  to  him  the  lullabies  she  had 
heard  when  a  little  child  herself  in  the  far-distant 
East.  And  every  night  his  mother  held  out  to 
him  the  symbol  in  the  similitude  of  the  cross,  and 
bade  him  kiss  it  ere  he  went  to  sleep. 

So  Claus  grew  to  manhood,  increasing  each 
day  in  knowledge  and  in  wisdom.  His  works  in 
creased  too ;  and  his  liberality  dispensed  every 
where  the  beauteous  things  which  his  fancy  con 
ceived  and  his  skill  executed.  Jans,  being  now  a 
very  old  man,  and  having  no  son  of  his  own,  gave 
to  Claus  his  forge  and  workshop,  and  taught  him 
those  secret  arts  which  he  in  youth  had  learned 
from  cunning  masters.  Right  joyous  now  was 
Claus  ;  and  many,  many  times  the  Northern  sky 
glowed  with  the  flames  that  danced  singing  from 


THE  SYMBOL   AND    THE   SAINT  I9 

the  forge  while  Claus  moulded  his  pretty  toys. 
Every  color  of  the  rainbow  were  these  flames  ;  for 
they  reflected  the  bright  colors  of  the  beauteous 
things  strewn  round  that  wonderful  workshop. 
Just  as  of  old  he  had  dispensed  to  all  children 
alike  the  homelier  toys  of  his  youth,  so  now  he 
gave  to  all  children  alike  these  more  beautiful 
and  more  curious  gifts.  So  little  children  every 
where  loved  Claus,  because  he  gave  them  pretty 
toys,  and  their  parents  loved  him  because  he 
made  their  little  ones  so  happy. 

But  now  Norss  and  Faia  were  come  to  old  age. 
After  long  years  of  love  and  happiness  they  knew 
that  death  could  not  be  far  distant.  And  one  day 
Faia  said  to  Norss,  "  Neither  you  nor  I,  dear  love, 
fear  death ;  but  if  we  could  choose,  would  we  not 
choose  to  live  always  in  this  our  son  Claus,  who 
has  been  so  sweet  a  joy  to  us?  " 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  Norss ;  "but  how  is  that  pos 
sible?" 

"We  shall  see,"  said  Faia. 
That  night  Norss  dreamed  that  a  spirit  came 
to  him,  and  that  the  spirit  said  to  him,  "  Norss, 
thou  shall  surely  live  forever  in  thy  son  Claus  if 
thou  wilt  but  acknowledge  the  symbol." 

Then  when  the  morning  was  come,  Norss  told 
his  dream  to  Faia,  his  wife ;  and  Faia  said : 

"  The  same  dream  had  I  — an  angel  appearing 
to  me  and  speaking  these  very  words/' 
"  But  what  of  the  symbol?  "  cried  Norss. 


20  PROFITABLE    TALES 

"  I  have  it  here,  about  my  neck,"  said  Faia. 

So  saying,  Faia  drew  from  her  bosom  the  sym 
bol  of  wood  —  a  tiny  cross  suspended  about  her 
neck  by  the  golden  chain.  And  as  she  stood  there 
holding  the  symbol  out  to  Norss,  he  —  he  thought 
of  the  time  when  first  he  saw  her  on  the  far-dis 
tant  Orient  shore,  standing  beneath  the  Star  in  all 
her  maidenly  glory,  shading  her  beauteous  eyes 
with  one  hand,  and  with  the  other  clasping  the 
cross  —  the  holy  talisman  of  her  faith. 

"  Faia,  Faia!"  cried  Norss,  "  it  is  the  same  — 
the  same  you  wore  when  I  fetched  you  a  bride 
from  the  East!" 

"  It  is  the  same,"  said  Faia,  "  yet  see  how  my 
kisses  and  my  prayers  have  worn  it  away ;  for 
many,  many  times  in  these  years,  dear  Norss, 
have  I  pressed  it  to  my  lips  and  breathed  your 
name  upon  it.  See  now  —  see  what  a  beauteous 
light  its  shadow  makes  upon  your  aged  face!" 

The  sunbeams,  indeed,  streaming  through  the 
window  at  that  moment,  cast  the  shadow  of  the 
symbol  on  old  Norss's  brow.  Norss  felt  a  glori 
ous  warmth  suffuse  him,  his  heart  leaped  with 
joy,  and  he  stretched  out  his  arms  and  fell  about 
Faia's  neck,  and  kissed  the  symbol  and  acknowl 
edged  it.  Then  likewise  did  Faia;  and  suddenly 
the  place  was  filled  with  a  wondrous  brightness 
and  with  strange  music,  and  never  thereafter  were 
Norss  and  Faia  beholden  of  men. 

Until  late  that  night  Claus  toiled  at  his  forge ; 


THE  SYMBOL  AND   THE  SAINT  21 

for  it  was  a  busy  season  with  him,  and  he  had 
many,  many  curious  and  beauteous  things  to  make 
for  the  little  children  in  the  country  round  about. 
The  colored  flames  leaped  singing  from  his  forge, 
so  that  the  Northern  sky  seemed  to  be  lighted 
by  a  thousand  rainbows  ;  but  above  all  this  voice- 
ful  glory  beamed  the  Star,  bright,  beautiful, 
serene. 

Coming  late  to  the  cabin  in  the  fir-grove,  Glaus 
wondered  that  no  sign  of  his  father  or  of  his 
mother  was  to  be  seen.  "  Father  —  mother! "  he 
cried,  but  he  received  no  answer.  Just  then  the 
Star  cast  its  golden  gleam  through  the  latticed  win 
dow,  and  this  strange,  holy  light  fell  and  rested 
upon  the  symbol  of  the  cross  that  lay  upon  the 
floor.  Seeing  it,  Glaus  stooped  and  picked  it  up, 
and  kissing  it  reverently,  he  cried,  "  Dear  talis 
man,  be  thou  my  inspiration  evermore ;  and  where 
soever  thy  blessed  influence  is  felt,  there  also  let 
my  works  be  known  henceforth  forev«r!" 

No  sooner  had  he  said  these  words  than  Glaus 
felt  the  gift  of  immortality  bestowed  upon  him ; 
and  in  that  moment,  too,  there  came  to  him  a 
knowledge  that  his  parents'  prayer  had  been 
answered,  and  that  Norss  and  Faia  would  live  in 
him  through  all  time. 

And  lo!  to  that  place  and  in  that  hour  came  all 
the  people  of  Mist-Land  and  of  Dream-Land  to 
declare  allegiance  to  him :  yes,  the  elves,  the  fai 
ries,  the  pixies  —  all  came  to  Glaus,  prepared  to  do 


22  PROFITABLE    TALES 

his  bidding.  Joyously  they  capered  about  him, 
and  merrily  they  sang. 

"  Now  haste  ye  all,"  cried  Claus  —  "  haste  ye 
all  to  your  homes  and  bring  to  my  workshop  the 
best  ye  have.  Search,  little  hill-people,  deep  in 
the  bowels  of  the  earth  for  finest  gold  and  choicest 
jewels ;  fetch  me,  O  mermaids,  from  the  bottom 
of  the  sea  the  treasures  hidden  there  —  the  shells 
of  rainbow  tints,  the  smooth,  bright  pebbles,  and 
the  strange  ocean  flowers ;  go,  pixies  and  other 
water-sprites,  to  your  secret  lakes,  and  bring  me 
pearls !  Speed !  speed  you  all !  for  many  pretty 
things  have  we  to  make  for  the  little  ones  of  earth 
we  love!" 

But  to  the  kobolds  and  the  brownies  Claus  said : 
"  Fly  to  every  house  on  earth  where  the  cross  is 
known ;  loiter  unseen  in  the  corners,  and  watch 
and  hear  the  children  through  the  day.  Keep  a 
strict  account  of  good  and  bad,  and  every  night 
bring  back  to  me  the  names  of  good  and  bad, 
that  I  may  know  them." 

The  kobolds  and  the  brownies  laughed  glee 
fully,  and  sped  away  on  noiseless  wings ;  and  so, 
too,  did  the  other  fairies  and  elves. 

There  came  also  to  Claus  the  beasts  of  the  for 
est  and  the  birds  of  the  air,  and  bade  him  be  their 
master.  And  up  danced  the  Four  Winds,  and 
they  said,  "  May  we  not  serve  you  too?  " 

The  Snow-king  came  stealing  along  in  his 
feathery  chariot.  "Oho!"  he  cried;  "I  shall 


THE  SYMBOL   AND    THE  SAINT  23 

speed  over  all  the  world  and  tell  them  you  are 
coining.  In  town  and  country,  on  the  mountain- 
tops  and  in  the  valleys  —  wheresoever  the  cross 
is  raised  —  there  will  I  herald  your  approach,  and 
thither  will  I  strew  you  a  pathway  of  feathery 
white.  Oho!  oho!"  So,  singing  softly,  the  Snow- 
king  stole  upon  his  way. 

But  of  all  the  beasts  that  begged  to  do  him  ser 
vice,  Glaus  liked  the  reindeer  best.  "  You  shall 
go  with  me  in  my  travels ;  for  henceforth  I  shall 
bear  my  treasures  not  only  to  the  children  of  the 
North,  but  to  the  children  in  every  land  whither 
the  Star  points  me  and  where  the  cross  is  lifted 
up! "  So  said  Glaus  to  the  reindeer,  and  the  rein 
deer  neighed  joyously  and  stamped  their  hoofs 
impatiently,  as  though  they  longed  to  start  imme 
diately. 

Oh,  many,  many  times  has  Glaus  whirled  away 
from  his  far  Northern  home  in  his  sledge  drawn 
by  the  reindeer,  and  thousands  upon  thousands 
of  beautiful  gifts  — all  of  his  own  making— has 
he  borne  to  the  children  of  every  land;  for  he 
loves  them  all  alike,  and  they  all  alike  love  him, 
I  trow.  So  truly  do  they  love  him  that  they  call 
him  Santa  Glaus,  and  I  am  sure  that  he  must  be  a 
saint ;  for  he  has  lived  these  many  hundred  years, 
and  we,  who  know  that  he  was  born  of  Faith  and 
Love,  believe  that  he  will  live  forever. 

1886. 


THE   COMING  OF  THE    PRINCE 


THE   COMING  OF  THE    PRINCE 


HIRR-R-R!  whirr-r-r!  whirr-r-r!" 
said  the  wind,  and  it  tore  through  the 
streets  of  the  city  that  Christmas  eve, 
turning  umbrellas  inside  out,  driving 
the  snow  in  fitful  gusts  before  it,  creaking  the 
rusty  signs  and  shutters,  and  playing  every  kind 
of  rude  prank  it  could  think  of. 

"  How  cold  your  breath  is  to-night! "  said  Bar 
bara,  with  a  shiver,  as  she  drew  her  tattered  little 
shawl  the  closer  around  her  benumbed  body. 

"Whirr-r-r!  whirr-r-r!  whirr-r-r!"  answered 
the  wind;  "  but  why  are  you  out  in  this  storm? 
You  should  be  at  home  by  the  warm  fire." 

"  I  have  no  home,"  said  Barbara;  and  then  she 
sighed  bitterly,  and  something  like  a  tiny  pearl 
came  in  the  corner  of  one  of  her  sad  blue  eyes. 

But  the  wind  did  not  hear  her  answer,  for  it 
had  hurried  up  the  street  to  throw  a  handful  of 
snow  in  the  face  of  an  old  man  who  was  strug- 


28  PROFITABLE    TALES 

gling  along  with  a  huge  basket  of  good  things  on 
each  arm. 

"  Why  are  you  not  at  the  cathedral?  "  asked  a 
snowflake,  as  it  alighted  on  Barbara's  shoulder. 
"  I  heard  grand  music  and  saw  beautiful  lights 
there  as  I  floated  down  from  the  sky  a  moment 
ago." 

"  What  are  they  doing  at  the  cathedral?  "  in 
quired  Barbara. 

"  Why,  haven't  you  heard? "  exclaimed  the 
snowflake.  "  I  supposed  everybody  knew  that 
the  prince  was  coming  to-morrow." 

"  Surely  enough;  this  is  Christmas  eve,"  said 
Barbara,  "and  the  prince  will  come  to-mor 
row." 

Barbara  remembered  that  her  mother  had  told 
her  about  the  prince,  how  beautiful  and  good 
and  kind  and  gentle  he  was,  and  how  he  loved 
the  little  children ;  but  her  mother  was  dead  now, 
and  there  was  none  to  tell  Barbara  of  the  prince 
and  his  coming — none  but  the  little  snowflake. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  the  prince,"  said  Bar 
bara,  "for  I  have  heard  he  was  very  beautiful 
and  good." 

"That  he  is,"  said  the  snowflake.  "I  have 
never  seen  him,  but  I  heard  the  pines  and  the 
firs  singing  about  him  as  I  floated  over  the  forest 
to-night." 

' '  Whirr-r-r !  whirr-r-r ! "  cried  the  wind,  return 
ing  boisterously  to  where  Barbara  stood.  "I've 


THE   COMING  OF  THE  PRINCE  29 

been  looking  for  you  everywhere,  little  snowflake ! 
So  come  with  me." 

And  without  any  further  ado,  the  wind  seized 
upon  the  snowflake,  and  hurried  it  along  the  street, 
and  led  it  a  merry  dance  through  the  icy  air  of 
the  winter  night. 

Barbara  trudged  on  through  the  snow  and 
looked  in  at  the  bright  things  in  the  shop  win 
dows.  The  glitter  of  the  lights  and  the  sparkle 
of  the  vast  array  of  beautiful  Christmas  toys  quite 
dazzled  her.  A  strange  mingling  of  admiration, 
regret,  and  envy  filled  the  poor  little  creature's 
heart. 

"  Much  as  I  may  yearn  to  have  them,  it  cannot 
be,"  she  said  to  herself;  "yet  I  may  feast  my 
eyes  upon  them." 

"Go  away  from  here!"  said  a  harsh  voice. 
"  How  can  the  rich  people  see  all  my  fine  things 
if  you  stand  before  the  window?  Be  off  with  you, 
you  miserable  little  beggar!" 

It  was  the  shopkeeper,  and  he  gave  Barbara  a 
savage  box  on  the  ear  that  sent  her  reeling  into 
the  deeper  snowdrifts  of  the  gutter. 

Presently  she  came  to  a  large  house  where 
there  seemed  to  be  much  mirth  and  festivity. 
The  shutters  were  thrown  open,  and  through  the 
windows  Barbara  could  see  a  beautiful  Christmas 
tree  in  the  centre  of  a  spacious  room  —  a  beautiful 
Christmas  tree  ablaze  with  red  and  green  lights, 
and  heavy  with  toys  and  stars  and  glass  balls,  and 


30  PROFITABLE   TALES 

other  beautiful  things  that  children  love.  There 
was  a  merry  throng  around  the  tree,  and  the  chil 
dren  were  smiling  and  gleeful,  and  all  in  that 
house  seemed  content  and  happy.  Barbara  heard 
them  singing,  and  their  song  was  about  the  prince 
who  was  to  come  on  the  morrow. 

"  This  must  be  the  house  where  the  prince  will 
stop,"  thought  Barbara.  "  How  I  should  like  to 
see  his  face  and  hear  his  voice!  —  yet  what  would 
he  care  for  me,  a  '  miserable  little  beggar  '?  " 

So  Barbara  crept  on  through  the  storm,  shiver 
ing  and  disconsolate,  yet  thinking  of  the  prince. 

' '  Where  are  you  going?  "  she  asked  of  the  wind, 
as  it  overtook  her. 

"  To  the  cathedral,"  laughed  the  wind.  "  The 
great  people  are  flocking  there,  and  I  will  have  a 
merry  time  among  them,  ha,  ha,  ha! " 

And  with  laughter  the  wind  whirled  away  and 
chased  the  snow  toward  the  cathedral. 

"  It  is  there,  then,  that  the  prince  will  come," 
thought  Barbara.  "It  is  a  beautiful  place,  and 
the  people  will  pay  him  homage  there.  Perhaps 
I  shall  see  him  if  I  go  there." 

So  she  went  to  the  cathedral.  Many  folk  were 
there  in  their  richest  apparel,  and  the  organ  rolled 
out  its  grand  music,  and  the  people  sang  wondrous 
songs,  and  the  priests  made  eloquent  prayers  ;  and 
the  music  and  the  songs  and  the  prayers  were  all 
about  the  prince  and  his  expected  coming.  The 
throng  that  swept  in  and  out  of  the  great  edifice 


THE   COMING   OF  THE  PRINCE  31 

talked  always  of  the  prince,  the  prince,  the  prince, 
until  Barbara  really  lored  him  very  much,  for  all 
the  gentle  words  she  heard  the  people  say  of  him. 

"Please  can  I  go  and  sit  inside?"  inquired 
Barbara  of  the  sexton. 

"No!"  said  the  sexton,  gruffly;  for  this  was 
an  important  occasion  with  the  sexton,  and  he 
had  no  idea  of  wasting  words  on  a  beggar  child. 

"  But  I  will  be  very  good  and  quiet,"  pleaded 
Barbara.  "  Please  may  I  not  see  the  prince?  " 

"  I  have  said  no,  and  I  mean  it,"  retorted  the 
sexton.  "What  have  you  for  the  prince,  or 
what  cares  the  prince  for  you?  Out  with  you, 
and  don't  be  blocking  up  the  doorway!"  So  the 
sexton  gave  Barbara  an  angry  push,  and  the  child 
fell  half-way  down  the  icy  steps  of  the  cathedral. 
She  began  to  cry.  Some  great  people  were  enter 
ing  the  cathedral  at  the  time,  and  they  laughed  to 
see  her  falling. 

"  Have  you  seen  the  prince?  "inquired  a  snow- 
flake,  alighting  on  Barbara's  cheek.  It  was  the 
same  little  snowflake  that  had  clung  to  her  shawl 
an  hour  ago,  when  the  wind  came  galloping  along 
on  his  boisterous  search. 

"Ah,  no!"  sighed  Barbara,  in  tears;  "but 
what  cares  the  prince  for  me?  " 

"  Do  not  speak  so  bitterly,"  said  the  little  snow- 
flake.  "  Go  to  the  forest  and  you  shall  see  him, 
for  the  prince  always  comes  through  the  forest  to 
the  city." 


32  PROFITABLE    TALES 

Despite  the  cold,  and  her  bruises,  and  her  tears, 
Barbara  smiled.  In  the  forest  she  could  behold 
the  prince  coming  on  his  way ;  and  he  would  not 
see  her,  for  she  would  hide  among  the  trees  and 
vines. 

"  Whirr-r-r  !  whirr-r-r!"  It  was  the  mischiev 
ous,  romping  wind  once  more;  and  it  fluttered 
Barbara's  tattered  shawl,  and  set  her  hair  to  stream 
ing  in  every  direction,  and  swept  the  snowflake 
from  her  cheek  and  sent  it  spinning  through  the 
air. 

Barbara  trudged  toward  the  forest.  When  she 
came  to  the  city  gate  the  watchman  stopped  her, 
and  held  his  big  lantern  in  her  face,  and  asked 
her  who  she  was  and  where  she  was  going. 

"  I  am  Barbara,  and  I  am  going  into  the  for 
est,"  said  she,  boldly. 

"  Into  the  forest?  "  cried  the  watchman,  "  and 
in  this  storm?  No,  child;  you  will  perish!" 

"  But  I  am  going  to  see  the  prince,"  said  Bar 
bara.  "  They  will  not  let  me  watch  for  him  in 
the  church,  nor  in  any  of  their  pleasant  homes, 
so  I  am  going  into  the  forest." 

The  watchman  smiled  sadly.  He  was  a  kindly 
man ;  he  thought  of  his  own  little  girl  at  home. 

"  No,  you  must  not  go  to  the  forest,"  said  he, 
"  for  you  would  perish  with  the  cold." 

But  Barbara  would  not  stay.  She  avoided  the 
watchman's  grasp  and  ran  as  fast  as  ever  she  could 
through  the  city  gate. 


THE   COMING   OF  THE  PRINCE 


33 


"Come  back,  come  back!"  cried  the  watch 
man  ;  "  you  will  perish  in  the  forest! " 

But  Barbara  would  not  heed  his  cry.  The 
falling  snow  did  not  stay  her,  nor  did  the  cutting 
blast.  She  thought  only  of  the  prince,  and  she 
ran  straightway  to  the  forest. 


II 


"  WHAT  do  you  see  up  there,  O  pine-tree?" 
asked  a  little  vine  in  the  forest.  "  You  lift  your 
head  among  the  clouds  to-night,  and  you  tremble 
strangely,  as  if  you  saw  wondrous  sights." 

"  I  see  only  the  distant  hilltops  and  the  dark 
clouds, "  answered  the  pine-tree.  ' '  And  the  wind 
sings  of  the  snow-king  to-night ;  to  all  my  ques 
tionings  he  says,  '  Snow,  snow,  snow,'  till  I  am 
wearied  with  his  refrain." 

"  But  the  prince  will  surely  come  to-morrow?  " 
inquired  the  tiny  snowdrop  that  nestled  close  to 
the  vine. 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  the  vine.  "  I  heard  the  coun 
try  folks  talking  about  it  as  they  went  through 
the  forest  to-day,  and  they  said  that  the  prince 
would  surely  come  on  the  morrow." 

"  What  are  you  little  folks  down  there  talking 
about?  "  asked  the  pine-tree. 

"We  are  talking  about  the  prince,"  said  the 
vine. 


34  PROFITABLE   TALES 

"  Yes,  he  is  to  come  on  the  morrow,"  said  the 
pine-tree,  "  but  not  until  the  day  dawns,  and  it  is 
still  all  dark  in  the  east." 

"Yes,"  said  the  fir-tree,  "the  east  is  black, 
and  only  the  wind  and  the  snow  issue  from  it." 

"  Keep  your  head  out  of  my  way!"  cried  the 
pine-tree  to  the  fir ;  "  with  your  constant  bobbing 
around  I  can  hardly  see  at  all." 

"  Take  that  for  your  bad  manners,"  retorted 
the  fir,  slapping  the  pine-tree  savagely  with  one 
of  her  longest  branches. 

The  pine-tree  would  put  up  with  no  such  treat 
ment,  so  he  hurled  his  largest  cone  at  the  fir; 
and  for  a  moment  or  two  it  looked  as  if  there 
were  going  to  be  a  serious  commotion  in  the 
forest. 

"Hush!"  cried  the  vine,  in  a  startled  tone; 
"  there  is  some  one  coming  through  the  forest." 

The  pine-tree  and  the  fir  stopped  quarrelling, 
and  the  snowdrop  nestled  closer  to  the  vine,  while 
the  vine  hugged  the  pine-tree  very  tightly.  All 
were  greatly  alarmed. 

"  Nonsense!"  said  the  pine-tree,  in  a  tone  of 
assumed  bravery.  "  No  one  would  venture  into 
the  forest  at  such  an  hour." 

"  Indeed!  and  why  not?  "  cried  a  child's  voice. 
"  Will  you  not  let  me  watch  with  you  for  the 
coming  of  the  prince?  " 

"  Will  you  not  chop  me  down?  "  inquired  the 
pine-tree,  gruffly. 


THE   COMING   OF  THE  PRINCE  35 

"  Will  you  not  tear  me  from  my  tree?  "  asked 
the  vine. 

' '  Will  you  not  pluck  my  blossoms  ?  "  plaintively 
piped  the  snowdrop. 

"  No,  of  course  not,"  said  Barbara;  "  I  have 
come  only  to  watch  with  you  for  the  prince." 

Then  Barbara  told  them  who  she  was,  and 
how  cruelly  she  had  been  treated  in  the  city,  and 
how  she  longed  to  see  the  prince,  who  was  to 
come  on  the  morrow.  And  as  she  talked,  the 
forest  and  all  therein  felt  a  great  compassion  for 
her. 

"  Lie  at  my  feet,"  said  the  pine-tree,  "  and  I 
will  protect  you." 

"  Nestle  close  to  me,  and  I  will  chafe  your 
temples  and  body  and  limbs  till  they  are  warm," 
said  the  vine. 

"  Let  me  rest  upon  your  cheek,  and  I  will  sing 
you  my  little  songs,"  said  the  snowdrop. 

And  Barbara  felt  very  grateful  for  all  these 
homely  kindnesses.  She  rested  in  the  velvety 
snow  at  the  foot  of  the  pine-tree,  and  the  vine 
chafed  her  body  and  limbs,  and  the  little  flower 
sang  sweet  songs  to  her. 

"  Whirr-r-r!  whirr-r-r!"  There  was  that  noisy 
wind  again,  but  this  time  it  was  gentler  than  it 
had  been  in  the  city. 

"Here  you  are,  my  little  Barbara,"  said  the 
wind,  in  kindly  tones.  "  I  have  brought  you 
the  little  snowflake.  I  am  glad  you  came  away 


36  PROFITABLE   TALES 

from  the  city,  for  the  people  are  proud  and 
haughty  there ;  oh,  but  I  will  have  my  fun  with 
them!" 

Then,  having  dropped  the  little  snowflake  on 
Barbara's  cheek,  the  wind  whisked  off  to  the  city 
again.  And  we  can  imagine  that  it  played  rare 
pranks  with  the  proud,  haughty  folk  on  its  re 
turn  ;  for  the  wind,  as  you  know,  is  no  respecter 
of  persons. 

"  Dear  Barbara,"  said  the  snowflake,  "  I  will 
watch  with  thee  for  the  coming  of  the  prince." 

And  Barbara  was  glad,  for  she  loved  the  little 
snowflake,  that  was  so  pure  and  innocent  and 
gentle. 

"  Tell  us,  O  pine-tree,"  cried  the  vine,  "  what 
do  you  see  in  the  east?  Has  the  prince  yet  entered 
the  forest?  " 

"  The  east  is  full  of  black  clouds,"  said  the 
pine-tree,  "  and  the  winds  that  hurry  to  the  hill 
tops  sing  of  the  snow." 

"  But  the  city  is  full  of  brightness,"  said  the 
fir.  "I  can  see  the  lights  in  the  cathedral,  and 
I  can  hear  wondrous  music  about  the  prince  and 
his  coming." 

"  Yes,  they  are  singing  of  the  prince  in  the 
cathedral,"  said  Barbara,  sadly. 

"  But  we  shall  see  him  first,"  whispered  the 
vine,  reassuringly. 

"  Yes,  the  prince  will  come  through  the  for 
est,"  said  the  little  snowdrop,  gleefully. 


THE   COMING   OF  THE  PRINCE 


37 


"Fear  not,  dear  Barbara;  we  shall  behold 
the  prince  in  all  his  glory,"  cried  the  snow- 
flake. 

Then  all  at  once  there  was  a  strange  hubbub 
in  the  forest ;  for  it  was  midnight,  and  the  spirits 
came  from  their  hiding-places  to  prowl  about  and 
to  disport  themselves.  Barbara  beheld  them  all 
in  great  wonder  and  trepidation,  for  she  had  never 
before  seen  the  spirits  of  the  forest,  although  she 
had  often  heard  of  them.  It  was  a  marvellous 
sight. 

"  Fear  nothing,"  whispered  the  vine  to  Barbara 
"  fear  nothing,  for  they  dare  not  touch  you." 
The  antics  of  the  wood-spirits  continued  but  an 
hour;  for  then  a  cock  crowed,  and  immediately 
thereat,  with  a  wondrous  scurrying,  the  elves  and 
the  gnomes  and  the  other  grotesque  spirits  sought 
their  abiding-places  in  the  caves  and  in  the  hollow 
trunks  and  under  the  loose  bark  of  the  trees.    And 
then  it  was  very  quiet  once  more  in  the  forest. 

"  It  is  very  cold,"  said  Barbara.  "  My  hands 
and  feet  are  like  ice." 

Then  the  pine-tree  and  the  fir  shook  down  the 
snow  from  their  broad  boughs,  and  the  snow  fell 
upon  Barbara  and  covered  her  like  a  white 
mantle. 

"  You  will  be  warm  now,"  said  the  vine,  kiss 
ing  Barbara's  forehead.  And  Barbara  smiled. 

Then  the  snowdrop  sang  a  lullaby  about  the 
moss  that  loved  the  violet.  And  Barbara  said, 


38  PROFITABLE   TALES 

' '  I  am  going  to  sleep ;  will  you  wake  me  when 
the  prince  comes  through  the  forest?  " 

And  they  said  they  would.     So  Barbara  fell 
asleep. 


Ill 


"  THE  bells  in  the  city  are  ringing  merrily," 
said  the  fir,  "  and  the  music  in  the  cathedral  is 
louder  and  more  beautiful  than  before.  Can  it  be 
that  the  prince  has  already  come  into  the  city?  " 

"  No,"  cried  the  pine-tree;  "  look  to  the  east 
and  see  the  Christmas  day  a-dawning!  The  prince 
is  coming,  and  his  pathway  is  through  the  forest! " 

The  storm  had  ceased.  Snow  lay  upon  all  the 
earth.  The  hills,  the  forest,  the  city,  and  the 
meadows  were  white  with  the  robe  the  storm- 
king  had  thrown  over  them.  Content  with  his 
wondrous  work,  the  storm-king  himself  had  fled 
to  his  far  Northern  home  before  the  dawn  of  the 
Christmas  day.  Everything  was  bright  and  spark 
ling  and  beautiful.  And  most  beautiful  was  the 
great  hymn  of  praise  the  forest  sang  that  Christ 
mas  morning — the  pine-trees  and  the  firs  and  the 
vines  and  the  snow-flowers  that  sang  of  the  prince 
and  of  his  promised  coming. 

"  Wake  up,  little  one,"  cried  the  vine,  "  for  the 
prince  is  coming!" 

But  Barbara  slept ;  she  did  not  hear  the  vine's 
soft  calling,  nor  the  lofty  music  of  the  forest. 


THE   COMING   OF  THE  PRINCE 


39 


A  little  snow-bird  flew  down  from  the  fir-tree's 
bough  and  perched  upon  the  vine,  and  carolled 
in  Barbara's  ear  of  the  Christmas  morning  and  of 
the  coming  of  the  prince.  But  Barbara  slept ;  she 
did  not  hear  the  carol  of  the  bird. 

"Alas!"  sighed  the  vine,  "Barbara  will  not 
awaken,  and  the  prince  is  coming." 

Then  the  vine  and  the  snowdrop  wept,  and  the 
pine-tree  and  the  fir  were  very  sad. 

The  prince  came  through  the  forest  clad  in  royal 
raiment  and  wearing  a  golden  crown.  Angels  came 
with  him,  and  the  forest  sang  a  great  hymn  unto 
the  prince,  such  a  hymn  as  had  never  before  been 
heard  on  earth.  The  prince  came  to  the  sleeping 
child  and  smiled  upon  her  and  called  her  by  name. 

"  Barbara,  my  little  one,"  said  the  prince, 
"  awaken,  and  come  with  me." 

Then  Barbara  opened  her  eyes  and  beheld  the 
prince.  And  it  seemed  as  if  a  new  life  had  come 
to  her,  for  there  was  warmth  in  her  body  and  a 
flush  upon  her  cheeks  and  a  light  in  her  eyes  that 
were  divine.  And  she  was  clothed  no  longer  in 
rags,  but  in  white  flowing  raiment ;  and  upon  the 
soft  brown  hair  there  was  a  crown  like  those  which 
angels  wear.  And  as  Barbara  arose  and  went  to 
the  prince,  the  little  snowflake  fell  from  her  cheek 
upon  her  bosom,  and  forthwith  became  a  pearl 
more  precious  than  all  other  jewels  upon  earth. 

And  the  prince  took  Barbara  in  .his  arms  and 
blessed  her,  and  turning  round  about,  returned 


40  PROFITABLE   TALES 

with  the  little  child  unto  his  home,  while  the  for 
est  and  the  sky  and  the  angels  sang  a  wondrous 
song. 

The  city  waited  for  the  prince,  but  he  did  not 
come.  None  knew  of  the  glory  of  the  forest  that 
Christmas  morning,  nor  of  the  new  life  that  came 
to  little  Barbara. 

Come  Thou,  dear  Prince,  oh,  come  to  us  this 
holy  Christmas  time  !  Come  to  the  busy  marts  of 
earth,  the  quiet  homes,  the  noisy  streets,  the  hum 
ble  lanes;  come  to  us  all,  and  with  Thy  love  touch 
every  human  heart,  that  we  may  kncnv  that  love, 
and  in  its  blessed  peace  bear  charity  to  all  man 
kind ! 

1886. 


THE   MOUSE   AND   THE    MOON 
BEAM 


THE   MOUSE  AND  THE    MOON 
BEAM 


HILE  you  were  sleeping,  little  Dear- 
my-Soul,  strange  things  happened; 
but  that  I  saw  and  heard  them,  I 
should  never  have  believed  them.  The 
clock  stood,  of  course,  in  the  corner,  a  moonbeam 
floated  idly  on  the  floor,  and  a  little  mauve  mouse 
came  from  the  hole  in  the  chimney-corner  and 
frisked  and  scampered  in  the  light  of  the  moon 
beam  upon  the  floor.  The  little  mauve  mouse 
was  particularly  merry ;  sometimes  she  danced 
upon  two  legs  and  sometimes  upon  four  legs,  but 
always  very  daintily  and  always  very  merrily. 

"  Ah  me!"  sighed  the  old  clock,  "  how  differ 
ent  mice  are  nowadays  from  the  mice  we  used  to 
have  in  the  good  old  times !  Now  there  was  your 
grandma,  Mistress  Velvetpaw,  and  there  was  your 
grandpa,  Master  Sniffwhisker  —  how  grave  and 
dignified  they  were!  Many  a  night  have  I  seen 
them  dancing  upon  the  carpet  below  me,  but  always 
the  stately  minuet  and  never  that  crazy  frisking 


44  PROFITABLE   TALES 

which  you  are  executing  now,  to  my  surprise 

yes,  and  to  my  horror,  too." 

"  But  why  shouldn't  I  be  merry?  "  asked  the 
little  mauve  mouse.  "  To-morrow  is  Christmas, 
and  this  is  Christmas  eve." 

"  So  it  is,"  said  the  old  clock.  "  I  had  really 
forgotten  all  about  it.  But,  tell  me,  what  is 
Christmas  to  you,  little  Miss  Mauve  Mouse?  " 

"  A  great  deal  to  me!"  cried  the  little  mauve 
mouse.  "I  have  been  very  good  a  very  long 
time :  I  have  not  used  any  bad  words,  nor  have 
I  gnawed  any  holes,  nor  have  I  stolen  any  canary- 
seed,  nor  have  I  worried  my  mother  by  running 
behind  the  flour-barrel  where  that  horrid  trap  is 
set.  In  fact,  I  have  been  so  good  that  I'm  very 
sure  Santa  Claus  will  bring  me  something  very 
pretty." 

This  seemed  to  amuse  the  old  clock  mightily; 
in  fact,  the  old  clock  fell  to  laughing  so  heartily 
that  in  an  unguarded  moment  she  struck  twelve 
instead  of  ten,  which  was  exceedingly  careless 
and  therefore  to  be  reprehended. 

"  Why,  you  silly  little  mauve  mouse,"  said  the 
old  clock,  "  you  don't  believe  in  Santa  Claus,  do 
you?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  answered  the  little  mauve 
mouse.  "  Believe  in  Santa  Claus  ?  Why  shouldn't 
I?  Didn't  Santa  Claus  bring  me  a  beautiful  but 
ter-cracker  last  Christmas,  and  a  lovely  ginger- 
snap,  and  a  delicious  rind  of  cheese,  and and 


THE  MOUSE  AND   THE  MOONBEAM     45 

— lots  of  things?  I  should  be  very  ungrateful  if 
I  did  not  believe  in  Santa  Glaus,  and  I  certainly 
shall  not  disbelieve  in  him  at  the  very  moment 
when  I  am  expecting  him  to  arrive  with  a  bundle 
of  goodies  for  me. 

"  I  once  had  a  little  sister,"  continued  the  little 
mauve  mouse,  "  who  did  not  believe  in  Santa 
Glaus,  and  the  very  thought  of  the  fate  that  be 
fell  her  makes  my  blood  run  cold  and  my  whis 
kers  stand  on  end.  She  died  before  I  was  born, 
but  my  mother  has  told  me  all  about  her.  Per 
haps  you  never  saw  her;  her  name  was  Squeak- 
nibble,  and  she  was  in  stature  one  of  those  long, 
low,  rangy  mice  that  are  seldom  found  in  well- 
stocked  pantries.  Mother  says  that  Squeaknib- 
ble  took  after  our  ancestors  who  came  from  New 
England,  where  the  malignant  ingenuity  of  the 
people  and  the  verocity  of  the  cats  rendered  life 
precarious  indeed.  Squeaknibble  seemed  to  in 
herit  many  ancestral  traits,  the  most  conspicuous 
of  which  was  a  disposition  to  sneer  at  some  of  the 
most  respected  dogmas  in  mousedom.  From  her 
very  infancy  she  doubted,  for  example,  the  widely 
accepted  theory  that  the  moon  was  composed  of 
green  cheese ;  and  this  heresy  was  the  first  inti 
mation  her  parents  had  of  the  sceptical  turn  of 
her  mind.  Of  course  her  parents  were  vastly 
annoyed,  for  their  maturer  natures  saw  that  this 
youthful  scepticism  portended  serious,  if  not  fatal, 
consequences.  Yet  all  in  vain  did  the  sagacious 


46  PROFITABLE   TALES 

couple  reason  and  plead  with  their  headstrong 
and  heretical  child. 

"  For  a  long  time  Squeaknibble  would  not  be 
lieve  that  there  was  any  such  archfiend  as  a  cat ; 
but  she  came  to  be  convinced  to  the  contrary  one 
memorable  night,  on  which  occasion  she  lost  two 
inches  of  her  beautiful  tail,  and  received  so  ter 
rible  a  fright  that  for  fully  an  hour  afterward  her 
little  heart  beat  so  violently  as  to  lift  her  off  her 
feet  and  bump  her  head  against  the  top  of  our 
domestic  hole.  The  cat  that  deprived  my  sister 
of  so  large  a  percentage  of  her  vertebral  colophon 
was  the  same  brindled  ogress  that  nowadays  steals 
ever  and  anon  into  this  room,  crouches  treacher 
ously  behind  the  sofa,  and  feigns  to  be  asleep, 
hoping,  forsooth,  that  some  of  us,  heedless  of  her 
hated  presence,  will  venture  within  reach  of  her 
diabolical  claws.  So  enraged  was  this  ferocious 
monster  at  the  escape  of  my  sister  that  she  ground 
her  fangs  viciously  together,  and  vowed  to  take 
no  pleasure  in  life  until  she  held  in  her  devouring 
jaws  the  innocent  little  mouse  which  belonged  to 
the  mangled  bit  of  tail  she  even  then  clutched  in 
her  remorseless  claws." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  old  clock,  "  now  that  you  re 
call  the  incident,  I  recollect  it  well.  I  was  here 
then,  in  this  very  corner,  and  I  remember  that  I 
laughed  at  the  cat  and  chided  her  for  her  awk 
wardness.  My  reproaches  irritated  her  ;  she  told 
me  that  a  clock's  duty  was  to  run  itself  down,  not 


THE  MOUSE  AND   THE  MOONBEAM      47 

to  be  depreciating  the  merits  of  others !  Yes,  I 
recall  the  time ;  that  cat's  tongue  is  fully  as  sharp 
as  her  claws." 

"  Be  that  as  it  may,"  said  the  little  mauve 
mouse,  "it  is  a  matter  of  history,  and  therefore 
beyond  dispute,  that  from  that  very  moment  the 
cat  pined  for  Squeaknibble's  life ;  it  seemed  as  if 
that  one  little  two-inch  taste  of  Squeaknibble's 
tail  had  filled  the  cat  with  a  consuming  passion, 
or  appetite,  for  the  rest  of  Squeaknibble.  So  the 
cat  waited  and  watched  and  hunted  and  schemed 
and  devised  and  did  everything  possible  for  a  cat 
— a  cruel  cat — to  do  in  order  to  gain  her  murder 
ous  ends.  One  night  —  one  fatal  Christmas  eve 
—  our  mother  had  undressed  the  children  for  bed, 
and  was  urging  upon  them  to  go  to  sleep  earlier 
than  usual,  since  she  fully  expected  that  Santa 
Claus  would  bring  each  of  them  something  very 
palatable  and  nice  before  morning.  Thereupon 
the  little  dears  whisked  their  cunning  tails,  pricked 
up  their  beautiful  ears,  and  began  telling  one  an 
other  what  they  hoped  Santa  Claus  would  bring. 
One  asked  for  a  slice  of  Roquefort,  another  for 
Neufchatel,  another  for  sap-sago,  and  a  fourth 
for  Edam  ;  one  expressed  a  preference  for  de  Brie, 
while  another  hoped  to  get  parmesan ;  one  clam 
ored  for  imperial  blue  Stilton,  and  another  craved 
the  fragrant  boon  of  Caprera.  There  were  four 
teen  little  ones  then,  and  consequently  there  were 
diverse  opinions  as  to  the  kind  of  gift  which  Santa 


48  PROFITABLE   TALES 

Claus  should  best  bring ;  still  there  was,  as  you 
can  readily  understand,  an  enthusiastic  unanimity 
upon  this  point,  namely,  that  the  gift  should  be 
cheese  of  some  brand  or  other. 

'  '  My  dears,'  said  our  mother,  '  what  matters 
it  whether  the  boon  which  Santa  Claus  brings  be 
royal  English  cheddar  or  fromage  de  Bricquebec, 
Vermont  sage  or  Herkimer  County  skim-milk? 
We  should  be  content  with  whatsoever  Santa 
Claus  bestows,  so  long  as  it  be  cheese,  disjoined 
from  all  traps  whatsoever,  unmixed  with  Paris 
green,  and  free  from  glass,  strychnine,  and  other 
harmful  ingredients.  As  for  myself,  I  shall  be 
satisfied  with  a  cut  of  nice,  fresh  Western  reserve ; 
for  truly  I  recognize  in  no  other  viand  or  edible 
half  the  fragrance  or  half  the  gustfulness  to  be  met 
with  in  one  of  these  pale  but  aromatic  domestic 
products.  So  run  away  to  your  dreams  now,  that 
Santa  Claus  may  find  you  sleeping.' 

"  The  children  obeyed  —  all  but  Squeaknibble. 
'  Let  the  others  think  what  they  please,'  said  she, 
'  but  /  don't  believe  in  Santa  Claus.  I'm  not 
going  to  bed,  either.  I'm  going  to  creep  out  of 
this  dark  hole  and  have  a  quiet  romp,  all  by  my 
self,  in  the  moonlight.'  Oh,  what  a  vain,  foolish, 
wicked  little  mouse  was  Squeaknibble!  But  I 
will  not  reproach  the  dead ;  her  punishment  came 
all  too  swiftly.  Now  listen  :  who  do  you  suppose 
overheard  her  talking  so  disrespectfully  of  Santa 
Claus?" 


THE  MOUSE  AND   THE  MOONBEAM      49 

"Why,    Santa  Glaus    himself,"  said    the    old 
clock. 

"  Oh  no,"  answered  the  little  mauve  mouse. 
"  It  was  that  wicked,  murderous  cat!  Just  as 
Satan  lurks  and  lies  in  wait  for  bad  children,  so 
does  the  cruel  cat  lurk  and  lie  in  wait  for  naughty 
little  mice.  And  you  can  depend  upon  it  that, 
when  that  awful  cat  heard  Squeaknibble  speak  so 
disrespectfully  of  Santa  Glaus,  her  wicked  eyes 
glowed  with  joy,  her  sharp  teeth  watered,  and 
her  bristling  fur  emitted  electric  sparks  as  big  as 
marrowfat  pease.  Then  what  did  that  bloodthirsty 
monster  do  but  scuttle  as  fast  as  she  could  into 
Dear-my-Soul's  room,  leap  up  into  Dear-my- 
Soul's  crib,  and  walk  off  with  the  pretty  little  white 
muff  which  Dear-my-Soul  used  to  wear  when  she 
went  for  a  visit  to  the  little  girl  in  the  next  block! 
What  upon  earth  did  the  horrid  old  cat  want  with 
Dear-my-Soul's  pretty  little  white  muff?  Ah, 
the  duplicity,  the  diabolical  ingenuity  of  that  cat ! 
Listen. 

"  In  the  first  place,"  resumed  the  little  mauve 
mouse,  after  a  pause  that  testified  eloquently  to 
the  depth  of  her  emotion  — "  in  the  first  place, 
that  wretched  cat  dressed  herself  up  in  that  pretty 
little  white  muff,  by  which  you  are  to  understand 
that  she  crawled  through  the  muff  just  so  far  as 
to  leave  her  four  cruel  legs  at  liberty." 

"  Yes,  I  understand,"  said  the  old  clock. 

"  Then  she  put  on  the  boy  doll's  fur  cap,"  said 


5o  PROFITABLE   TALES 

the  little  mauve  mouse,  "  and  when  she  was  ar 
rayed  in  the  boy  doll's  fur  cap  and  Dear-my-Soul's 
pretty  little  white  muff,  of  course  she  didn't  look 
like  a  cruel  cat  at  all.  But  whom  did  she  look 
like?  " 

"  Like  the  boy  doll,"  suggested  the  old  clock. 

"  No,  no!"  cried  the  little  mauve  mouse. 

"  Like  Dear-my-Soul?  "  asked  the  old  clock. 

"  How  stupid  you  are!"  exclaimed  the  little 
mauve  mouse.  "  Why,  she  looked  like  Santa 
Claus,  of  course!" 

"  Oh  yes ;  I  see,"  said  the  old  clock.  "  Now 
I  begin  to  be  interested;  go  on." 

"  Alas!  "  sighed  the  little  mauve  mouse,  "  not 
much  remains  to  be  told  ;  but  there  is  more  of  my 
story  left  than  there  was  of  Squeaknibble  when 
that  horrid  cat  crawled  out  of  that  miserable  dis 
guise.  You  are  to  understand  that,  contrary  to 
her  sagacious  mother's  injunction,  and  in  notori 
ous  derision  of  the  mooted  coming  of  Santa  Claus, 
Squeaknibble  issued  from  the  friendly  hole  in  the 
chimney-corner,  and  gambolled  about  over  this 
very  carpet,  and,  I  dare  say,  in  this  very  moon 
light." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  the  moonbeam,  faintly. 
"  I  am  so  very  old,  and  I  have  seen  so  many 
things  —  I  do  not  know." 

"  Right  merrily  was  Squeaknibble  gambolling," 
continued  the  little  mauve  mouse,  "  and  she  had 
just  turned  a  double  back  somersault  without  the 


THE  MOUSE  AND   THE  MOONBEAM      5I 

use  of  what  remained  of  her  tail,  when,  all  of  a 
sudden,  she  beheld,  looming  up  like  a  monster 
ghost,  a  figure  all  in  white  fur!  Oh,  how  fright 
ened  she  was,  and  how  her  little  heart  did  beat! 
'  Purr,  purr-r-r,'  said  the  ghost  in  white  fur. 
'  Oh,  please  don't  hurt  me!'  pleaded  Squeaknib- 
ble.  '  No;  I'll  not  hurt  you,'  said  the  ghost  in 
white  fur;  'I'm  Santa  Claus,  and  I've  brought 
you  a  beautiful  piece  of  savory  old  cheese,  you 
dear  little  mousie,  you.'  Poor  Squeaknibble  was 
deceived;  a  sceptic  all  her  life,  she  was  at  last 
befooled  by  the  most  palpable  and  most  fatal  of 
frauds.  '  How  good  of  you!'  said  Squeaknibble. 
'  I  didn't  believe  there  was  a  Santa  Claus,  and  — ' 
But  before  she  could  say  more  she  was  seized  by 
two  sharp,  cruel  claws  that  conveyed  her  crushed 
body  to  the  murderous  mouth  of  mousedom's 
most  malignant  foe.  I  can  dwell  no  longer  upon 
this  harrowing  scene.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  ere 
the  morrow's  sun  rose  like  a  big  yellow  Herkimer 
County  cheese  upon  the  spot  where  that  tragedy 
had  been  enacted,  poor  Squeaknibble  passed  to 
that  bourn  whence  two  inches  of  her  beautiful 
tail  had  preceded  her  by  the  space  of  three  weeks 
to  a  day.  As  for  Santa  Claus,  when  he  came  that 
Christmas  eve,  bringing  morceaux  de  Brie  and  of 
Stilton  for  the  other  little  mice,  he  heard  with  sor 
row  of  Squeaknibble's  fate ;  and  ere  he  departed 
he  said  that  in  all  his  experience  he  had  never 
known  of  a  mouse  or  of  a  child  that  had  prospered 


52  PROFITABLE    TALES 

after  once  saying  that  he  didn't  believe  in  Santa 
Claus." 

"  Well,  that  is  a  remarkable  story,"  said  the 
old  clock.  "  But  if  you  believe  in  Santa  Claus, 
why  aren't  you  in  bed?  " 

"  That's  where  I  shall  be  presently,"  answered 
the  little  mauve  mouse,  "  but  I  must  have  my 
scamper,  you  know.  It  is  very  pleasant,  I  as 
sure  you,  to  frolic  in  the  light  of  the  moon ;  only 
I  cannot  understand  why  you  are  always  so  cold 
and  so  solemn  and  so  still,  you  pale,  pretty  little 
moonbeam." 

"  Indeed,  I  do  not  know  that  I  am  so,"  said 
the  moonbeam.  "  But  I  am  very  old,  and  I  have 
travelled  many,  many  leagues,  and  I  have  seen 
wondrous  things.  Sometimes  I  toss  upon  the 
ocean,  sometimes  I  fall  upon  a  slumbering  flower, 
sometimes  I  rest  upon  a  dead  child's  face.  I  see 
the  fairies  at  their  play,  and  I  hear  mothers  singing 
lullabies.  Last  night  I  swept  across  the  frozen 
bosom  of  a  river.  A  woman's  face  looked  up  at 
me ;  it  was  the  picture  of  eternal  rest.  '  She  is 
sleeping,'  said  the  frozen  river.  '  I  rock  her  to 
and  fro,  and  sing  to  her.  Pass  gently  by,  O 
moonbeam;  pass  gently  by,  lest  you  awaken 
her.'  " 

"  How  strangely  you  talk!"  said  the  old  clock. 
"  Now  I'll  warrant  me  that,  if  you  wanted  to, 
you  could  tell  many  a  pretty  and  wonderful  story. 
You  must  know  many  a  Christmas  tale;  pray 


THE  MOUSE  AND   THE  MOON &E AM      53 

tell  us  one  to  wear  away  this  night  of  Christmas 
watching." 

"  I  know  but  one,"  said  the  moonbeam.  "  I 
have  told  it  over  and  over  again,  in  every  land 
and  in  every  home ;  yet  I  do  not  weary  of  it.  It 
is  very  simple.  Should  you  like  to  hear  it?  " 

"  Indeed  we  should,"  said  the  old  clock ;  "  but 
before  you  begin,  let  me  strike" twelve;  for  I 
shouldn't  want  to  interrupt  you." 

When  the  old  clock  had  performed  this  duty 
with  somewhat  more  than  usual  alacrity,  the 
moonbeam  began  its  story : 

"  Upon  a  time  —  so  long  ago  that  I  can't  tell 
how  long  ago  it  was  —  I  fell  upon  a  hillside.  It 
was  in  a  far-distant  country  ;  this  I  know,  because, 
although  it  was  the  Christmas  time,  it  was  not  in 
that  country  as  it  is  wont  to  be  in  countries  to 
the  north.  Hither  the  snow-king  never  came ; 
flowers  bloomed  all  the  year,  and  at  all  times  the 
lambs  found  pleasant  pasturage  on  the  hillsides. 
The  night  wind  was  balmy,  and  there  was  a  fra 
grance  of  cedar  in  its  breath.  There  were  violets 
on  the  hillside,  and  I  fell  among  them  and  lay 
there.  I  kissed  them,  and  they  awakened.  '  Ah, 
is  it  you,  little  moonbeam?'  they  said,  and  they 
nestled  in  the  grass  which  the  lambs  had  left  un- 
cropped. 

"  A  shepherd  lay  upon  a  broad  stone  on  the 
hillside;  above  him  spread  an  olive-tree,  old, 
ragged,  and  gloomy ;  but  now  it  swayed  its  rusty 


54  PROFITABLE   TALES 

branches  majestically  in  the  shifting  air  of  night. 
The  shepherd's  name  was  Benoni.  Wearied  with 
long  watching,  he  had  fallen  asleep  ;  his  crook  had 
slipped  from  his  hand.  Upon  the  hillside,  too, 
slept  the  shepherd's  flock.  I  had  counted  them 
again  and  again ;  I  had  stolen  across  their  gentle 
faces  and  brought  them  pleasant  dreams  of  green 
pastures  and  oftfcool  water-brooks.  I  had  kissed 
old  Benoni,  too,  as  he  lay  slumbering  there ;  and 
in  his  dreams  he  seemed  to  see  Israel's  King  come 
upon  earth,  and  in  his  dreams  he  murmured  the 
promised  Messiah's  name. 

"  '  Ah,  is  it  you,  little  moonbeam? '  quoth  the 
violets.  '  You  have  come  in  good  time.  Nestle 
here  with  us,  and  see  wonderful  things  come  to 
pass.' 

"  '  What  are  these  wonderful  things  of  which 
you  speak  ?  '  I  asked. 

"  '  We  heard  the  old  olive-tree  telling  of  them 
to-night,'  said  the  violets.  '  "  Do  not  go  to  sleep, 
little  violets,"  said  the  old  olive-tree,  "  for  this  is 
Christmas  night,  and  the  Master  shall  walk  upon 
the  hillside  in  the  glory  of  the  midnight  hour." 
So  we  waited  and  watched  ;  one  by  one  the  lambs 
fell  asleep ;  one  by  one  the  stars  peeped  out ;  the 
shepherd  nodded  and  crooned,  and  crooned  and 
nodded,  and  at  last  he,  too,  went  fast  asleep,  and 
his  crook  slipped  from  his  keeping.  Then  we 
called  to  the  old  olive-tree  yonder,  asking  how 
soon  the  midnight  hour  would  come ;  but  all  the 


THE  MOUSE  AND   THE  MOONBEAM      55 

old  olive-tree  answered  was,  "  Presently,  pres 
ently,"  and  finally  we,  too,  fell  asleep,  wearied 
by  our  long  watching,  and  lulled  by  the  rocking 
and  swaying  of  the  old  olive-tree  in  the  breezes  of 
the  night.' 

"  '  But  who  is  this  Master? '  I  asked. 

"  '  A  child,  a  little  child,'  they  answered.  '  He 
is  called  the  little  Master  by  the  others.  He 
comes  here  often,  and  plays  among  the  flowers  of 
the  hillside.  Sometimes  the  lambs,  gambolling  too 
carelessly,  have  crushed  and  bruised  us  so  that 
we  lie  bleeding  and  are  like  to  die ;  but  the  little 
Master  heals  our  wounds  and  refreshes  us  once 
again.' 

' '  I  marvelled  much  to  hear  these  things.  '  The 
midnight  hour  is  at  hand,'  said  I,  '  and  I  will 
abide  with  you  to  see  this  little  Master  of  whom 
you  speak.'  So  we  nestled  among  the  verdure 
of  the  hillside,  and  sang  songs  one  to  another. 

' '  Come  away! '  called  the  night  wind  ;  '  I  know 
a  beauteous  sea  not  far  hence,  upon  whose  bosom 
you  shall  float,  float,  float  away  out  into  the  mists 
and  clouds,  if  you  will  come  with  me.' 

"  But  I  hid  under  the  violets  and  amid  the  tall 
grass,  that  the  night  wind  might  not  woo  me  with 
its  pleading.  '  Ho  there,  old  olive-tree!'  cried 
the  violets ;  '  do  you  see  the  little  Master  com 
ing?  Is  not  the  midnight  hour  at  hand?  ' 

1 '  I  can  see  the  town  yonder,'  said  the  old 
olive-tree.  '  A  star  beams  bright  over  Bethlehem, 


56  PROFITABLE  TALES 

the  iron  gates  swing  open,  and  the  little  Master 
comes.' 

"  Two  children  came  to  the  hillside.  The  one, 
older  than  his  comrade,  was  Dimas,  the  son  of 
Benoni.  He  was  rugged  and  sinewy,  and  over 
his  brown  shoulders  was  flung  a  goat-skin ;  a 
leathern  cap  did  not  confine  his  long,  dark  curly 
hair.  The  other  child  was  He  whom  they  called 
the  little  Master.  About  His  slender  form  clung 
raiment  white  as  snow,  and  around  His  face  of 
heavenly  innocence  fell  curls  of  golden  yellow. 
So  beautiful  a  child  I  had  not  seen  before,  nor 
have  I  ever  since  seen  such  as  He.  And  as  they 
came  together  to  the  hillside,  there  seemed  to 
glow  about  the  little  Master's  head  a  soft  white 
light,  as  if  the  moon  had  sent  its  tenderest,  fair 
est  beams  to  kiss  those  golden  curls. 

( '  What  sound  was  that?  '  cried  Dimas,  for  he 
was  exceeding  fearful. 

"  '  Have  no  fear,  Dimas,'  said  the  little  Mas 
ter.  '  Give  Me  thy  hand,  and  I  will  lead  thee.' 

"  Presently  they  came  to  the  rock  whereon 
Benoni,  the  shepherd,  lay ;  and  they  stood  under 
the  old  olive-tree,  and  the  old  olive-tree  swayed 
no  longer  in  the  night  wind,  but  bent  its  branches 
reverently  in  the  presence  of  the  little  Master.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  wind,  too,  stayed  in  its  shifting 
course  just  then  ;  for  suddenly  there  was  a  solemn 
hush,  and  you  could  hear  no  noise,  except  that  in 
his  dreams  Benoni  spoke  the  Messiah's  name. 


THE  MOUSE  AND   TtiE  MOONBEAM      5? 

"'Thy  father  sleeps,'  said  the  little  Master, 
'  and  it  is  well  that  it  is  so ;  for  that  I  love  thee, 
Dimas,  and  that  thou  shalt  walk  with  Me  in  My 
Father's  kingdom,  I  would  show  thee  the  glories 
of  My  birthright.' 

"  Then  all  at  once  sweet  music  filled  the  air,  and 
light,  greater  than  the  light  of  day,  illumined  the 
sky  and  fell  upon  all  that  hillside.  The  heavens 
opened,  and  angels,  singing  joyous  songs,  walked 
to  the  earth.  More  wondrous  still,  the  stars,  fall 
ing  from  their  places  in  the  sky,  clustered  upon 
the  old  olive-tree,  and  swung  hither  and  thither 
like  colored  lanterns.  The  flowers  of  the  hillside 
all  awakened,  and  they,  too,  danced  and  sang. 
The  angels,  coming  hither,  hung  gold  and  silver 
and  jewels  and  precious  stones  upon  the  old  olive, 
where  swung  the  stars  ;  so  that  the  glory  of  that 
sight,  though  I  might  live  forever,  I  shall  never 
see  again.  When  Dimas  heard  and  saw  these 
things  he  fell  upon  his  knees,  and  catching  the 
hem  of  the  little  Master's  garment,  he  kissed  it. 

"  '  Greater  joy  than  this  shall  be  thine,  Dimas,' 
said  the  little  Master ;  '  but  first  must  all  things 
be  fulfilled.' 

"All  through  that  Christmas  night  did  the 
angels  come  and  go  with  their  sweet  anthems  ;  all 
through  that  Christmas  night  did  the  stars  dance 
and  sing;  and  when  it  came  my  time  to  steal 
away,  the  hillside  was  still  beautiful  with  the 
glory  and  the  music  of  heaven." 


58  PROFITABLE   TALES 

"  Well,  is  that  all?  "  asked  the  old  clock. 

"  No,"  said  the  moonbeam  ;  "  but  I  am  nearly 
done.  The  years  went  on.  Sometimes  I  tossed 
upon  the  ocean's  bosom,  sometimes  I  scampered 
o'er  a  battle-field,  sometimes  I  lay  upon  a  dead 
child's  face.  I  heard  the  voices  of  Darkness  and 
mothers'  lullabies  and  sick  men's  prayers  —  and 
so  the  years  went  on. 

"  I  fell  one  night  upon  a  hard  and  furrowed  face. 
It  was  of  ghostly  pallor.  A  thief  was  dying  on 
the  cross,  and  this  was  his  wretched  face.  About 
the  cross  stood  men  with  staves  and  swords  and 
spears,  but  none  paid  heed  unto  the  thief.  Some 
what  beyond  this  cross  another  was  lifted  up,  and 
upon  it  was  stretched  a  human  body  my  light  fell 
not  upon.  But  I  heard  a  voice  that  somewhere  I 
had  heard  before  —  though  where  I  did  not  know 
—  and  this  voice  blessed  those  that  railed  and 
jeered  and  shamefully  entreated.  And  suddenly 
the  voice  called  '  Dimas,  Dimas ! '  and  the  thief 
upon  whose  hardened  face  I  rested  made  answer. 

"  Then  I  saw  that  it  was  Dimas;  yet  to  this 
wicked  criminal  there  remained  but  little  of  the 
shepherd  child  whom  I  had  seen  in  all  his  inno 
cence  upon  the  hillside.  Long  years  of  sinful  life 
had  seared  their  marks  into  h-is  face ;  yet  now,  at 
the  sound  of  that  familiar  voice,  somewhat  of  the 
old-time  boyish  look  came  back,  and  in  the  yearn 
ing  of  the  anguished  eyes  I  seemed  to  see  the 
shepherd's  son  again. 


THE  MOUSE  AND   THE  MOONBEAM      59 

"  '  The  Master! '  cried  Dimas,  and  he  stretched 
forth  his  neck  that  he  might  see  Him  that 
spake. 

"  '  O  Dimas,  how  art  thou  changed!'  cried  the 
Master ;  yet  there  was  in  His  voice  no  tone  of  re 
buke  save  that  which  cometh  of  love. 

"  Then  Dimas  wept,  and  in  that  hour  he  for 
got  his  pain.  And  the  Master's  consoling  voice 
and  the  Master's  presence  there  wrought  in  the 
dying  criminal  such  a  new  spirit  that  when  at  last 
his  head  fell  upon  his  bosom,  and  the  men  about 
the  cross  said  that  he  was  dead,  it  seemed  as  if 
I  shined  not  upon  a  felon's  face,  but  upon  the 
face  of  the  gentle  shepherd  lad,  the  son  of 
Benoni. 

"  And  shining  on  that  dead  and  peaceful  face, 
I  bethought  me  of  the  little  Master's  words  that 
He  had  spoken  under  the  old  olive-tree  upon  the 
hillside.  '  Your  eyes  behold  the  promised  glory 
now,  O  Dimas,'  I  whispered,  '  for  with  the  Mas 
ter  you  walk  in  Paradise.'  " 

Ah,  little  Dear-my-Soul,  you  know  — you  know 
whereof  the  moonbeam  spake.  The  shepherd's 
bones  are  dust,  the  flocks  are  scattered,  the  old 
olive-tree  is  gone,  the  flowers  of  the  hillside  are 
withered,  and  none  knoweth  where  the  grave  of 
Dimas  is  made.  But  last  night,  again,  there 
shined  a  star  over  Bethlehem,  and  the  angels  de 
scended  from  the  sky  to  earth,  and  the  stars  sang 


60  PROFITABLE   TALES 

together  in  glory.  And  the  bells — hear  them, 
little  Dear-my-Soul,  how  sweetly  they  are  ringing 
—  the  bells  bear  us  the  good  tidings  of  great  joy 
this  Christmas  morning,  that  our  Christ  is  born, 
and  that  with  Him  He  bringeth  peace  on  earth 
and  good-will  toward  men. 

1888. 


THE    DIVELL'S   CHRYSTMASS 


THE    DIVELL'S   CHRYSTMASS 


T  befell  that  on  a  time  ye  Divell  did 
walk  to  and  fro  upon  ye  earth,  having 
in  his  mind  full  evill  cogitations  how 
that  he  might  do  despight ;  for  of  soche 
nature  is  ye  Divell,  and  ever  hath  been,  that  con 
tinually  doth  he  go  about  among  men,  being  so 
dispositioned  that  it  sufficeth  him  not  that  men 
sholde  of  their  own  frovvardness,  and  by  cause  of 
the  guile  born  in  them,  turn  unto  his  wickedness, 
but  rather  that  he  sholde  by  his  crewel  artifices 
and  diabolical  machinations  tempt  them  at  all  times 
and  upon  every  hand  to  do  his  fiendly  plaisaunce. 
But  it  so  fortuned  that  this  time  wherein  ye 
Divell  so  walked  upon  ye  earth  was  ye  Chryst- 
mass  time ;  and  wit  ye  well  that  how  evill  soever 
ye  harte  of  man  ben  at  other  seasons,  it  is  tofilled 
at  ye  Chrystmass  time  with  charity  and  love,  like 
as  if  it  ben  sanctified  by  ye  exceeding  holiness  of 
that  feast.  Leastwise,  this  moche  we  know,  that, 
whereas  at  other  times  envy  and  worldliness  do 
prevail,  for  a  verity  our  natures  are  toched  at  ye 


64  PROFITABLE    TALES 

Chrystmass  time  as  by  ye  hand  of  divinity,  and 
conditioned  for  merciful  deeds  unto  our  fellow- 
kind.  Right  wroth  was  ye  Divell,  therefore,  when 
that  he  knew  this  ben  ye  Chrystmass  time.  And 
as  rage  doth  often  confirm  in  ye  human  harte  an 
evill  purpose,  so  was  ye  Divell  now  more  diabol 
ically  minded  to  work  his  unclean  will,  and  full 
hejeously  fell  he  to  roar  and  lash  his  ribald  legs 
with  his  poyson  taile.  But  ye  Divell  did  pres 
ently  conceive  that  naught  might  he  accomplish 
by  this  means,  since  that  men,  affrighted  by  his 
roaring  and  astonied  by  ye  fumes  of  brimstone  and 
ye  sulphur  flames  issuing  from  his  mouth,  wolde 
flee  therefrom ;  whereas  by  subtile  craft  and  by 
words  of  specious  guile  it  more  frequently  befalls 
that  ye  Divell  seduceth  men  and  lureth  them  into 
his  toils.  So  then  ye  Divell  did  in  a  little  season 
feign  to  be  in  a  full  plaisaunt  mind  and  of  swete 
purpose ;  and  when  that  he  had  girt  him  about 
with  an  hermit's  cloak,  so  that  none  might  see 
his  cloven  feet  and  his  poyson  taile,  right  briskly 
did  he  fare  him  on  his  journey,  and  he  did  sing 
ye  while  a  plaisaunt  tune,  like  he  had  ben  full  of 
joyous  contentation. 

Now  it  befell  that  presently  in  his  journey  he 
did  meet  with  a  frere,  Dan  Dennyss,  an  holy  man 
that  fared  him  to  a  neighboring  town  for  deeds 
of  charity  and  godliness.  Unto  him  spake  ye 
Divell  full  courteysely,  and  required  of  him  that 
he  might  bear  him  company ;  to  which  ye  frere 


THE  DI YELL'S   CHRYSTMASS  65 

gave  answer  in  seemly  wise,  that,  if  so  be  that  he 
ben  of  friendly  disposition,  he  wolde  make  him  joy 
of  his  companionship  and  conversation.  Then, 
whiles  that  they  journeyed  together,  began  ye 
Divell  to  discourse  of  theologies  and  hidden  mys 
teries,  and  of  conjurations,  and  of  negromancy, 
and  of  magick,  and  of  Chaldee,  and  of  astrology, 
and  of  chymistry,  and  of  other  occult  and  forbid 
den  sciences,  wherein  ye  Divell  and  all  that  ply 
his  damnable  arts  are  mightily  learned  and  prac 
tised.  Now  wit  ye  well  that  this  frere,  being  an 
holy  man  and  a  simple,  and  having  an  eye  single 
to  ye  blessed  works  of  his  calling,  was  presently 
mightily  troubled  in  his  mind  by  ye  artifices  of  ye 
Divell,  and  his  harte  began  to  waver  and  to  be 
filled  with  miserable  doublings  ;  for  knowing  noth 
ing  of  ye  things  whereof  ye  Divell  spake,  he  colde 
not  make  answer  thereto,  nor,  being  of  godly  cogi 
tation  and  practice,  had  he  ye  confutations  where 
with  to  meet  ye  abhominable  argumentations  of 
ye  fiend. 

Yet  (and  now  shall  I  tell  you  of  a  special  Provi 
dence)  it  did  fortune,  whiles  yet  ye  Divell  dis 
coursed  in  this  profane  wise,  there  was  vouchsafed 
unto  ye  frere  a  certain  power  to  resist  ye  evill  that 
environed  him ;  for  of  a  sodaine  he  did  cast  his 
doublings  and  his  misgivings  to  ye  winds,  and  did 
fall  upon  ye  Divell  and  did  buffet  him  full  sore, 
crying,  "  Thou  art  ye  Divell!  Get  thee  gone!" 
And  ye  frere  plucked  ye  cloake  from  ye  Divell 


66  PROFITABLE   TALES 

and  saw  ye  cloven  feet  and  ye  poyson  taile,  and 
straightway  ye  Divell  ran  roaring  away.  But  ye 
frere  fared  upon  his  journey,  for  that  he  had  had 
a  successful  issue  from  this  grievous  temptation, 
with  thanksgiving  and  prayse. 

Next  came  ye  Divell  into  a  town  wherein  were 
many  people  going  to  and  fro  upon  works  of 
charity,  and  doing  righteous  practices;  and  sorely 
did  it  repent  ye  Divell  when  that  he  saw  ye  peo 
ple  bent  upon  ye  giving  of  alms  and  ye  doing  of 
charitable  deeds.  Therefore  with  mighty  diligence 
did  ye  Divell  apply  himself  to  poyson  ye  minds  of 
ye  people,  shewing  unto  them  in  artful  wise  how 
that  by  idleness  or  by  righteous  dispensation  had 
ye  poore  become  poore,  and  that,  soche  being  ye 
will  of  God,  it  was  an  evill  and  rebellious  thing 
against  God  to  seeke  to  minister  consolation  unto 
these  poore  peoples.  Soche  like  specious  argu 
mentations  did  ye  Divell  use  to  gain  his  diabolical 
ends  ;  but  by  means  of  a  grace  whereof  none  then 
knew  ye  source,  these  men  and  these  women  unto 
whom  ye  Divell  spake  his  hejeous  heresies  pres 
ently  discovered  force  to  withstand  these  fiendly 
temptations,  and  to  continue  in  their  Chrystianly 
practices,  to  ye  glory  of  their  faith  and  to  ye  bene- 
fite  of  ye  needy,  but  to  ye  exceeding  discomfiture 
of  ye  Divell ;  for  ye  which  discomfiture  I  do  give 
hearty  thanks,  and  so  also  shall  all  of  you,  if  so 
be  that  your  hartes  within  you  be  of  rightful  dis 
position. 


THE  DI YELL'S   CHRYSTMASS  67 

All  that  day  long  fared  ye  Divell  to  and  fro 
among  ye  people  of  ye  town,  but  none  colde  he 
bring  into  his  hellish  way  of  cogitation.  Nor  do 
I  count  this  to  be  a  marvellous  thing;  for,  as  I 
myself  have  herein  shewn  and  as  eche  of  us  doth 
truly  know,  how  can  there  be  a  place  for  ye  Divell 
upon  earth  during  this  Chrystmass  time,  when  in 
ye  very  air  that  we  breathe  abideth  a  certain  love 
and  concord  sent  of  heaven  for  the  controul  and 
edification  of  mankind,  filling  human  hartes  with 
peace  and  inclining  human  hands  to  ye  delectable 
and  blessed  employments  of  charity?  Nay,  but 
you  shall  know  that  all  this  very  season  whereof 
I  speak  ye  holy  Chrystchilde  Himself  did  follow 
ye  Divell  upon  earth,  forefending  the  crewel  evills 
which  ye  Divell  fain  wolde  do,  and  girding  with 
confidence  and  love  ye  else  frail  natures  of  men. 
Soothly  it  is  known  of  common  report  among 
you  that  when  ye  Chrystmass  season  comes  upon 
ye  earth  there  cometh  with  it  also  the  spirit  of 
our  Chryst  Himself,  that  in  ye  similitude  of  a  little 
childe  descended!  from  heaven  and  walketh  among 
men.  And  if  so  be  that  by  any  chance  ye  Divell 
is  minded  to  issue  from  his  foul  pit  at  soche  a 
time,  wit  ye  well  that  wheresoever  ye  fiend  fareth 
to  do  his  diabolical  plaisaunce  there  also  close  at 
hand  followeth  ye  gentle  Chrystchilde;  so  that 
ye  Divell,  try  how  hard  soever  he  may,  hath  no 
power  at  soche  a  time  over  the  hartes  of  men. 

Nay,  but  you  shall  know  furthermore  that  of 


68  PROFITABLE    TALES 

soche  svvete  quality  and  of  so  great  efficacy  is  this 
heavenly  spirit  of  charity  at  ye  Chrystmass  season 
that  oftentimes  is  ye  Divell  himself  made  to  do  a 
kindly  deed.  So  at  this  time  of  ye  which  I  you 
tell,  ye  Divell,  walking  upon  ye  earth  with  evill 
purpose,  become  finally  overcome  by  ye  gracious 
desire  to  give  an  alms ;  but  nony  alms  had  ye 
Divell  to  give,  sith  it  is  wisely  ordained  that  ye 
Divell's  offices  shall  be  confined  to  his  domain. 
Right  grievously  tormented  therefore  was  ye 
Divell,  in  that  he  had  naught  of  alms  to  bestow ; 
but  when  presently  he  did  meet  with  a  beggar 
childe  that  besought  him  charity,  ye  Divell  whipped 
out  a  knife  and  cut  off  his  own  taile,  which  taile 
ye  Divell  gave  to  ye  beggar  childe,  for  he  had  not 
else  to  give  for  a  lyttle  trinket  toy  to  make  merry 
with.  Now  wit  ye  well  that  this  poyson  instru 
ment  brought  no  evill  to  ye  beggar  childe,  for  by 
a  sodaine  miracle  it  ben  changed  into  a  flowre  of 
gold,  ye  which  gave  great  joy  unto  ye  beggar  childe 
and  unto  all  them  that  saw  this  miracle  how  that 
it  had  ben  wrought,  but  not  by  ye  Divell.  Then 
returned  ye  Divell  unto  his  pit  of  fire ;  and  since 
that  day,  whereupon  befell  this  thing  of  which  I 
speak,  ye  Divell  hath  had  nony  taile  at  all,  as  you 
that  hath  scene  ye  same  shall  truly  testify. 

But  all  that  day  long  walked  ye  Chrystchilde 
upon  ye  earth,  unseen  to  ye  people,  but  toching 
their  hartes  with  His  swete  love  and  turning  their 
hands  to  charity ;  and  all  felt  that  ye  Chryst- 


THE  DI YELL'S   CHRYSTMASS  69 

childe  was  with  them.  So  it  was  plaisaunt  to  do 
ye  Chrystchilde's  will,  to  succor  ye  needy,  to  com 
fort  ye  afflicted,  and  to  lift  up  ye  oppressed.  Most 
plaisauntest  of  all  was  it  to  make  merry  with  ye 
lyttle  children,  sithence  of  soche  is  ye  kingdom 
whence  ye  Chrystchilde  cometh. 

Behold,  ye  season  is  again  at  hand ;  once  more 
ye  snows  of  winter  lie  upon  all  ye  earth,  and  all 
Chrystantie  is  arrayed  to  ye  holy  feast. 

Presently  shall  ye  star  burn  with  exceeding 
brightness  in  ye  east,  ye  sky  shall  be  full  of  swete 
music,  ye  angels  shall  descend  to  earth  with  sing 
ing,  and  ye  bells  —  ye  joyous  Chrystmass  bells  — 
shall  tell  us  of  ye  babe  that  was  born  in  Bethlehem. 

Come  to  us  now,  O  gentle  Chrystchilde,  and 
walke  among  us  peoples  of  ye  earth ;  enwheel  us 
round  about  with  Thy  protecting  care ;  forefend 
all  envious  thoughts  and  evil  deeds ;  toche  Thou 
our  hearts  with  the  glory  of  Thy  love,  and  quicken 
us  to  practices  of  peace,  good-will,  and  charity, 
meet  for  Thy  approval  and  acceptation. 

1888. 


THE  MOUNTAIN  AND  THE  SEA 


THE  MOUNTAIN  AND  THE  SEA 


NCE  upon  a  time  the  air,  the  moun 
tain,  and  the  sea  lived  undisturbed 
upon  all  the  earth.  The  mountain 
alone  was  immovable;  he  stood  al 
ways  here  upon  his  rocky  foundation,  and  the  sea 
rippled  and  foamed  at  his  feet,  while  the  air  danced 
freely  over  his  head  and  about  his  grim  face.  It 
came  to  pass  that  both  the  sea  and  the  air  loved 
the  mountain,  but  the  mountain  loved  the  sea. 

"  Dance  on  forever,  O  air,"  said  the  mountain  ; 
"  dance  on  and  sing  your  merry  songs.  But  I 
love  the  gentle  sea,  who  in  sweet  humility  crouches 
at  my  feet  or  playfully  dashes  her  white  spray 
against  my  brown  bosom." 

Now  the  sea  was  full  of  joy  when  she  heard 
these  words,  and  her  thousand  voices  sang  softly 
with  delight.  But  the  air  was  filled  with  rage  and 
jealousy,  and  she  swore  a  terrible  revenge. 

"  The  mountain  shall  not  wed  the  sea,"  mut 
tered  the  envious  air.  "  Enjoy  your  triumph 


74  PROFITABLE    TALES 

while  you  may,  O  slumberous  sister ;  I  will  steal 
you  from  your  haughty  lover!" 

And  it  came  to  pass  that  ever  after  that  the  air 
each  day  caught  up  huge  parts  of  the  sea  and  sent 
them  floating  forever  through  the  air  in  the  shape 
of  clouds.  So  each  day  the  sea  receded  from  the 
feet  of  the  mountain,  and  her  tuneful  waves  played 
no  more  around  his  majestic  base. 

"  Whither  art  thou  going,  my  love?  "  cried  the 
mountain,  in  dismay. 

"  She  is  false  to  thee,"  laughed  the  air,  mock 
ingly.  "  She  is  going  to  another  love  far  away." 

But  the  mountain  would  not  believe  it.  He 
towered  his  head  aloft  and  cried  more  beseech 
ingly  than  before:  "  Oh,  whither  art  thou  going, 
my  beloved?  I  do  not  hear  thy  sweet  voice,  nor 
do  thy  soft  white  arms  compass  me  about." 

Then  the  sea  cried  out  in  an  agony  of  helpless 
love.  But  the  mountain  heard  her  not,  for  the 
air  refused  to  bring  the  words  she  said. 

"  She  is  false!"  whispered  the  air.  "  I  alone 
am  true  to  thee." 

But  the  mountain  believed  her  not.  Day  after 
day  he  reared  his  massive  head  aloft  and  turned 
his  honest  face  to  the  receding  sea  and  begged 
her  to  return ;  day  after  day  the  sea  threw  up  her 
snowy  arms  and  uttered  the  wildest  lamentations, 
but  the  mountain  heard  her  not ;  and  day  by  day 
the  sea  receded  farther  and  farther  from  the  moun 
tain's  base.  Where  she  once  had  spread  her  fair 


THE  MOUNTAIN  AND   THE  SEA  75 

surface  appeared  fertile  plains  and  verdant  groves 
all  peopled  with  living  things,  whose  voices  the 
air  brought  to  the  mountain's  ears  in  the  hope 
that  they  might  distract  the  mountain  from  his 
mourning. 

But  the  mountain  would  not  be  comforted ;  he 
lifted  his  sturdy  head  aloft,  and  his  sorrowing 
face  was  turned  ever  toward  the  fleeting  object  of 
his  love.  Hills,  valleys,  forests,  plains,  and  other 
mountains  separated  them  now,  but  over  and  be 
yond  them  all  he  could  see  her  fair  face  lifted 
pleadingly  toward  him,  while  her  white  arms 
tossed  wildly  to  and  fro.  But  he  did  not  know 
what  words  she  said,  for  the  envious  air  would 
not  bear  her  messages  to  him. 

Then  many  ages  came  and  went,  until  now 
the  sea  was  far  distant,  so  very  distant  that  the 
mountain  could  not  behold  her  —  nay,  had  he  been 
ten  thousand  times  as  lofty  he  could  not  have  seen 
her,  she  was  so  far  away.  But  still,  as  of  old, 
the  mountain  stood  with  his  majestic  head  high  in 
the  sky,  and  his  face  turned  whither  he  had  seen 
her  fading  like  a  dream  away. 

"  Come  back,  come  back,  O  my  beloved!"  he 
cried  and  cried. 

And  the  sea,  a  thousand  miles  or  more  away, 
still  thought  forever  of  the  mountain.  Vainly  she 
peered  over  the  western  horizon  for  a  glimpse  of 
his  proud  head  and  honest  face.  The  horizon  was 
dark.  Her  lover  was  far  beyond  ;  forests,  plains, 


76  PROFITABLE  TALES 

hills,  valleys,  rivers,  and  other  mountains  inter 
vened.  Her  watching  was  as  hopeless  as  her  love. 

"  She  is  false! "  whispered  the  air  to  the  moun 
tain.  "  She  is  false,  and  she  has  gone  to  another 
lover.  I  alone  am  true!" 

But  the  mountain  believed  her  not.  And  one 
day  clouds  came  floating  through  the  sky  and 
hovered  around  the  mountain's  crest. 

"  Who  art  thou,"  cried  the  mountain  —  "  who 
art  thou  that  thou  fill'st  me  with  such  a  subtile 
consolation?  Thy  breath  is  like  my  beloved's, 
and  thy  kisses  are  like  her  kisses." 

"  We  come  from  the  sea,"  answered  the  clouds. 
"  She  loves  thee,  and  she  has  sent  us  to  bid  thee 
be  courageous,  for  she  will  come  back  to  thee." 

Then  the  clouds  covered  the  mountain  and 
bathed  him  with  the  glory  of  the  sea's  true  love. 
The  air  raged  furiously,  but  all  in  vain.  Ever 
after  that  the  clouds  came  each  day  with  love- 
messages  from  the  sea,  and  oftentimes  the  clouds 
bore  back  to  the  distant  sea  the  tender  words  the 
mountain  spoke. 

And  so  the  ages  come  and  go,  the  mountain 
rearing  his  giant  head  aloft,  and  his  brown,  hon 
est  face  turned  whither  the  sea  departed ;  the  sea 
stretching  forth  her  arms  to  the  distant  mountain 
and  repeating  his  dear  name  with  her  thousand 
voices. 

Stand  on  the  beach  and  look  upon  the  sea's 
majestic  calm  and  hear  her  murmurings ;  or  see 


THE  MOUNTAIN  AND   THE  SEA  77 

her  when,  in  the  frenzy  of  her  hopeless  love,  she 
surges  wildly  and  tosses  her  white  arms  and 
shrieks  —  then  you  shall  know  how  the  sea  loves 
the  distant  mountain. 

The  mountain  is  old  and  sear ;  the  storms  have 
beaten  upon  his  breast,  and  great  scars  and  seams 
and  wrinkles  are  on  his  sturdy  head  and  honest 
face.  But  he  towers  majestically  aloft,  and  he 
looks  always  toward  the  distant  sea  and  waits  for 
her  promised  coming. 

And  so  the  ages  come  and  go,  but  love  is  eternal. 

1886. 


THE   ROBIN   AND  THE   VIOLET 


THE   ROBIN   AND    THE   VIOLET 


NCE  upon  a  time  a  robin  lived  in  the 
greenwood.  Of  all  the  birds  his  breast 
was  the  brightest,  his  music  was  the 
sweetest,  and  his  life  was  the  merriest. 
Every  morning  and  evening  he  perched  himself 
among  the  berries  of  the  linden-tree,  and  carolled 
a  song  that  made  the  whole  forest  joyous ;  and 
all  day  long  he  fluttered  among  the  flowers  and 
shrubbery  of  the  wild-wood,  and  twittered  gaily 
to  the  brooks,  the  ferns,  and  the  lichens. 

A  violet  grew  among  the  mosses  at  the  foot  of 
the  linden-tree  where  lived  the  robin.  She  was 
so  very  tiny  and  so  very  modest  that  few  knew 
there  was  such  a  pretty  little  creature  in  the 
world.  Withal  she  was  so  beautiful  and  so  gen 
tle  that  those  who  knew  the  violet  loved  her  very 
dearly. 

The  south  wind  came  wooing  the  violet.  He 
danced  through  the  shrubbery  and  ferns,  and  lin- 


82  PROFITABLE   TALES 

gered  on  the  velvet  moss  where  the  little  flower 
grew.  But  when  he  kissed  her  pretty  face  and 
whispered  to  her,  she  hung  her  head  and  said, 
"  No,  no,  it  cannot  be." 

"  Nay,  little  violet,  do  not  be  so  cruel,"  pleaded 
the  south  wind;  "  let  me  bear  you  as  my  bride 
away  to  my  splendid  home  in  the  South,  where 
all  is  warmth  and  sunshine  always." 

But  the  violet  kept  repeating,  "  No,  it  cannot 
be;  no,  it  cannot  be,"  till  at  last  the  south  wind 
stole  away  with  a  very  heavy  heart. 

And  the  rose  exclaimed,  in  an  outburst  of  dis 
gustful  indignation:  "What  a  foolish  violet! 
How  silly  of  her  to  refuse  such  a  wooer  as  the 
south  wind,  who  has  a  beautiful  home  and  a  patri 
mony  of  eternal  warmth  and  sunshine!" 

But  the  violet,  as  soon  as  the  south  wind  had 
gone,  looked  up  at  the  robin  perched  in  the  lin 
den-tree  and  singing  his  clear  song ;  and  it  seemed 
as  if  she  blushed  and  as  if  she  were  thrilled  with 
a  great  emotion  as  she  beheld  him.  But  the  robin 
did  not  see  the  violet;  his  eyes  were  turned 
the  other  way,  and  he  sang  to  the  clouds  in  the 
sky. 

The  brook  o'erleaped  its  banks  one  day,  and 
straying  toward  the  linden-tree,  it  was  amazed  at 
the  loveliness  of  the  violet.  Never  had  it  seen 
any  flower  half  so  beautiful. 

"  Oh,  come  and  be  my  bride,"  cried  the  brook. 
"  I  am  young  and  small  now,  but  presently  you 


THE  RODIN  AND   THE   1'IOLET  83 

shall  see  me  grow  to  a  mighty  river  whose  course 
no  human  power  can  direct,  and  whose  force  noth 
ing  can  resist.  Cast  thyself  upon  my  bosom, 
sweet  violet,  and  let  us  float  together  to  that 
great  destiny  which  awaits  me." 

But  the  violet  shuddered  and  recoiled,  and 
said,  "  Nay,  nay,  impetuous  brook,  I  will  not 
be  your  bride."  So,  with  many  murmurs  and 
complaints,  the  brook  crept  back  to  its  jealous 
banks  and  resumed  its  devious  and  prattling  way 
to  the  sea. 

"  Bless  me!"  cried  the  daisy,  "  only  to  think 
of  that  silly  violet's  refusing  the  brook!  Was 
there  ever  another  such  piece  of  folly!  Where 
else  is  there  a  flower  that  would  not  have  been 
glad  to  go  upon  such  a  wonderful  career?  Oh, 
how  short-sighted  some  folks  are!" 

But  the  violet  paid  no  heed  to  these  words; 
she  looked  steadfastly  up  into  the  foliage  of  the 
linden-tree  where  the  robin  was  carolling.  The 
robin  did  not  see  the  violet ;  he  was  singing  to 
the  tops  of  the  fir-trees  over  yonder. 

The  days  came  and  went.  The  robin  sang  and 
fluttered  in  the  greenwood,  and  the  violet  bided 
among  the  mosses  at  the  foot  of  the  linden ;  and 
although  the  violet's  face  was  turned  always  up 
ward  to  where  the  robin  perched  and  sang,  the 
robin  never  saw  the  tender  little  flower. 

One  day  a  huntsman  came  through  the  green 
wood,  and  an  arrow  from  his  cruel  bow  struck 


84  PROFITABLE    TALES 

the  robin  and  pierced  his  heart.  The  robin  was 
carolling  in  the  linden,  but  his  song  was  ended 
suddenly,  and  the  innocent  bird  fell  dying  from  the 
tree.  "  Oh,  it  is  only  a  robin,"  said  the  hunts 
man,  and  with  a  careless  laugh  he  went  on  his 
way. 

The  robin  lay  upon  the  mosses  at  the  foot  of  the 
linden,  close  beside  the  violet.  But  he  neither  saw 
nor  heard  anything,  for  his  life  was  nearly  gone. 
The  violet  tried  to  bind  his  wound  and  stay  the 
flow  of  his  heart's  blood,  but  her  tender  services 
were  vain.  The  robin  died  without  having  seen 
her  sweet  face  or  heard  her  gentle  voice. 

Then  the  other  birds  of  the  greenwood  came 
to  mourn  over  their  dead  friend.  The  moles  and 
the  mice  dug  a  little  grave  and  laid  the  robin  in  it, 
after  which  the  birds  brought  lichens  and  leaves, 
and  covered  the  dead  body,  and  heaped  earth  over 
all,  and  made  a  great  lamentation.  But  when  they 
went  away,  the  violet  remained ;  and  after  the  sun 
had  set,  and  the  greenwood  all  was  dark,  the  vio 
let  bent  over  the  robin's  grave  and  kissed  it,  and 
sang  to  the  dead  robin.  And  the  violet  watched 
by  the  robin's  grave  for  weeks  and  months,  her 
face  pressed  forward  toward  that  tiny  mound,  and 
her  gentle  voice  always  singing  softly  and  sweetly 
about  the  love  she  never  had  dared  to  tell. 

Often  after  that  the  south  wind  and  the  brook 
came  wooing  her ;  but  she  never  heard  them,  or, 
if  she  heard  them,  she  did  not  answer.  The  vine 


THE  ROBIN  AND   THE    VIOLET  85 

that  lived  near  the  chestnut  yonder  said  the  vio 
let  was  greatly  changed ;  that  from  being  a  merry, 
happy  thing,  she  had  grown  sad  and  reticent ; 
she  used  to  hold  up  her  head  as  proudly  as  the 
others,  but  now  she  seemed  broken  and  weary. 
The  shrubs  and  flowers  talked  it  all  over  many 
and  many  a  time,  but  none  of  them  could  explain 
the  violet's  strange  conduct. 

It  was  autumn  now,  and  the  greenwood  was  not 
what  it  had  been.  The  birds  had  flown  elsewhere 
to  be  the  guests  of  the  storks  during  the  winter 
months,  the  rose  had  run  away  to  be  the  bride 
of  the  south  wind,  and  the  daisy  had  wedded  the 
brook  and  was  taking  a  bridal  tour  to  the  seaside 
watering-places.  But  the  violet  still  lingered  in 
the  greenwood,  and  kept  her  vigil  at  the  grave  of 
the  robin.  She  was  pale  and  drooping,  but  still 
she  watched  and  sang  over  the  spot  where  her 
love  lay  buried.  Each  day  she  grew  weaker  and 
paler.  The  oak  begged  her  to  come  and  live 
among  the  warm  lichens  that  protected  him  from 
the  icy  breath  of  the  storm-king,  but  the  violet 
chose  to  watch  and  sing  over  the  robin's  grave. 

One  morning,  after  a  night  of  exceeding  dark 
ness  and  frost,  the  boisterous  north  wind  came 
trampling  through  the  greenwood. 

"  I  have  come  for  the  violet,"  he  cried;  "  she 
would  not  have  my  fair  brother,  but  she  must  go 
with  me,  whether  it  pleases  her  or  not!" 

But  when  he  came  to  the  foot  of  the  linden-tree 


36  PROFITABLE    TALES 

his  anger  was  changed  to  compassion.  The  vio 
let  was  dead,  and  she  lay  upon  the  robin's  grave. 
Her  gentle  face  rested  close  to  the  little  mound, 
as  if,  in  her  last  moment,  the  faithful  flower  had 
stretched  forth  her  lips  to  kiss  the  dust  that  covered 
her  beloved. 

1884. 


THE   OAK-TREE  AND   THE    IVY 


THE   OAK-TREE  AND   THE    IVY 


N  the  greenwood  stood  a  mighty  oak. 
So  majestic  was  he  that  all  who  came 
that  way  paused  to  admire  his  strength 
and  beauty,  and  all  the  other  trees  of 
the  greenwood  acknowledged  him  to  be  their 
monarch. 

Now  it  came  to  pass  that  the  ivy  loved  the  oak- 
tree,  and  inclining  her  graceful  tendrils  where  he 
stood,  she  crept  about  his  feet  and  twined  herself 
around  his  sturdy  and  knotted  trunk.  And  the 
oak-tree  pitied  the  ivy. 

"Oho! "he  cried,  laughing  boisterously,  but 
good-naturedly  —  "  oho!  so  you  love  me,  do  you, 
little  vine?  Very  well,  then  ;  play  about  my  feet, 
and  I  will  keep  the  storms  from  you  and  will  tell 
you  pretty  stories  about  the  clouds,  the  birds,  and 
the  stars." 

The  ivy  marvelled  greatly  at  the  strange  stories 
the  oak-tree  told ;  they  were  stories  the  oak-tree 
heard  from  the  wind  that  loitered  about  his  lofty 
head  and  whispered  to  the  leaves  df  his  topmost 


9o  PROFITABLE    TALES 

branches.  Sometimes  the  story  was  about  the 
great  ocean  in  the  East,  sometimes  of  the  broad 
prairies  in  the  West,  sometimes  of  the  ice-king 
who  lived  in  the  North,  and  sometimes  of  the 
flower-queen  who  dwelt  in  the  South.  Then,  too, 
the  moon  told  a  story  to  the  oak-tree  every  night 
—  or  at  least  every  night  that  she  came  to  the 
greenwood,  which  was  very  often,  for  the  green 
wood  is  a  very  charming  spot,  as  we  all  know. 
And  the  oak-tree  repeated  to  the  ivy  every  story 
the  moon  told  and  every  song  the  stars  sang. 

"  Pray,  what  are  the  winds  saying  now?"  or 
"  What  song  is  that  I  hear?  "  the  ivy  would  ask; 
and  then  the  oak-tree  would  repeat  the  story  or 
the  song,  and  the  ivy  would  listen  in  great  won 
derment. 

Whenever  the  storms  came,  the  oak-tree  cried 
to  the  little  ivy:  "Cling  close  to  me,  and  no 
harm  shall  befall  you!  See  how  strong  I  am; 
the  tempest  does  not  so  much  as  stir  me  —  I  mock 
its  fury  !  " 

Then,  seeing  how  strong  and  brave  he  was,  the 
ivy  hugged  him  closely ;  his  brown,  rugged  breast 
protected  her  from  every  harm,  and  she  was  secure. 

The  years  went  by;  how  quickly  they  flew  — 
spring,  summer,  winter,  and  then  again  spring, 
summer,  winter  —  ah,  life  is  short  in  the  green 
wood  as  elsewhere!  And  now  the  ivy  was  no 
longer  a  weakly  little  vine  to  excite  the  pity  of 
the  passer-by.  Her  thousand  beautiful  arms  had 


THE   OAK-TREE  AND   THE  IVY 


91 


twined  hither  and  thither  about  the  oak-tree, 
covering  his  brown  and  knotted  trunk,  shooting 
forth  a  bright,  delicious  foliage,  and  stretching 
lar  up  among  his  lower  branches.  Then  the  oak- 
tree's  pity  grew  into  a  love  for  the  ivy,  and  the 
ivy  was  filled  with  a  great  joy.  And  the  oak-tree 
and  the  ivy  were  wed  one  June  night,  and  there 
was  a  wonderful  celebration  in  the  greenwood ; 
and  there  was  the  most  beautiful  music,  in  which 
the  pine-trees,  the  crickets,  the  katydids,  the 
frogs,  and  the  nightingales  joined  with  pleasing 
harmony. 

The  oak-tree  was  always  good  and  gentle  to  the 
ivy.  "  There  is  a  storm  coming  over  the  hills," 
he  would  say.  "  The  east  wind  tells  me  so;  the 
swallows  fly  low  in  the  air,  and  the  sky  is  dark. 
Cling  close  to  me,  my  beloved,  and  no  harm  shall 
befall  you." 

Then,  confidently  and  with  an  always  growing 
love,  the  ivy  would  cling  more  closely  to  the  oak- 
tree,  and  no  harm  came  to  her. 

"  How  good  the  oak-tree  is  to  the  ivy!"  said 
the  other  trees  of  the  greenwood.  The  ivy  heard 
them,  and  she  loved  the  oak-tree  more  and  more. 
And,  although  the  ivy  was  now  the  most  umbra 
geous  and  luxuriant  vine  in  all  the  greenwood,  the 
oak-tree  regarded  her  still  as  the  tender  little  thing 
he  had  laughingly  called  to  his  feet  that  spring 
day  many  years  before  —  the  same  little  ivy  he 
had  told  about  the  stars,  the  clouds,  and  the  birds. 


92  PROFITABLE   TALES 

And,  just  as  patiently  as  in  those  days  he  had  told 
her  of  these  things,  he  now  repeated  other  tales 
the  winds  whispered  to  his  topmost  boughs  —  tales 
of  the  ocean  in  the  East,  the  prairies  in  the  West, 
the  ice-king  in  the  North,  and  the  flower-queen 
in  the  South.  Nestling  upon  his  brave  breast 
and  in  his  stout  arms,  the  ivy  heard  him  tell  these 
wondrous  things,  and  she  never  wearied  with  the 
listening. 

"  How  the  oak-tree  loves  her!"  said  the  ash. 
"  The  lazy  vine  has  naught  to  do  but  to  twine 
herself  about  the  arrogant  oak-tree  and  hear  him 
tell  his  wondrous  stories!" 

The  ivy  heard  these  envious  words,  and  they 
made  her  very  sad ;  but  she  said  nothing  of  them 
to  the  oak-tree,  and  that  night  the  oak-tree  rocked 
her  to  sleep  as  he  repeated  the  lullaby  a  zephyr 
was  singing  to  him. 

"  There  is  a  storm  coming  over  the  hills,"  said 
the  oak-tree  one  day.  ' '  The  east  wind  tells  me 
so ;  the  swallows  fly  low  in  the  air,  and  the  sky  is 
dark.  Clasp  me  round  about  with  thy  dear  arms, 
my  beloved,  and  nestle  close  unto  my  bosom,  and 
no  harm  shall  befall  thee." 

"  I  have  no  fear,"  murmured  the  ivy;  and  she 
clasped  her  arms  most  closely  about  him  and  nes 
tled  unto  his  bosom. 

The  storm  came  over  the  hills  and  swept  down 
upon  the  greenwood  with  deafening  thunder  and 
vivid  lightning.  The  storm-king  himself  rode 


THE  OAK-TREE  AND   THE  IVY  93 

upon  the  blast ;  his  horses  breathed  flames,  and 
his  chariot  trailed  through  the  air  like  a  serpent 
of  fire.  The  ash  fell  before  the  violence  of  the 
storm-king's  fury,  and  the  cedars  groaning  fell, 
and  the  hemlocks  and  the  pines  ;  but  the  oak-tree 
alone  quailed  not. 

"Oho!"  cried  the  storm-king,  angrily,  "the 
oak-tree  does  not  bow  to  me,  he  does  not  tremble 
in  my  presence.  Well,  we  shall  see." 

With  that,  the  storm-king  hurled  a  mighty  thun 
derbolt  at  the  oak-tree,  and  the  brave,  strong  mon 
arch  of  the  greenwood  was  riven.  Then,  with  a 
shout  of  triumph,  the  storm-king  rode  away. 

"  Dear  oak-tree,  you  are  riven  by  the  storm- 
king's  thunderbolt!"  cried  the  ivy,  in  anguish. 

"  Ay,"  said  the  oak-tree,  feebly,  "  my  end  has 
come;  see,  I  am  shattered  and  helpless." 

"  But  /  am  unhurt,"  remonstrated  the  ivy, 
"  and  I  will  bind  up  your  wounds  and  nurse  you 
back  to  health  and  vigor." 

And  so  it  was  that,  although  the  oak-tree  was 
ever  afterward  a  riven  and  broken  thing,  the  ivy 
concealed  the  scars  upon  his  shattered  form  and 
covered  his  wounds  all  over  with  her  soft  foliage. 

"  I  had  hoped,  dear  one,"  she  said,  "  to  grow 
up  to  thy  height,  to  live  with  thee  among  the 
clouds,  and  to  hear  the  solemn  voices  thou  didst 
hear.  Thou  wouldst  have  loved  me  better  then  ?  " 

But  the  old  oak-tree  said,  "  Nay,  nay,  my  be 
loved  ;  I  love  thee  better  as  thou  art,  for  with 


94  PROFITABLE   TALES 

thy  beauty  and  thy  love  thou  comfortest  mine 
age." 

Then  would  the  ivy  tell  quaint  stones  to  the 
old  and  broken  oak-tree — stories  she  had  learned 
from  the  crickets,  the  bees,  the  butterflies,  and 
the  mice,  when  she  was  an  humble  little  vine  and 
played  at  the  foot  of  the  majestic  oak-tree,  tower 
ing  in  the  greenwood  with  no  thought  of  the  tiny 
shoot  that  crept  toward  him  with  her  love.  And 
these  simple  tales  pleased  the  old  and  riven  oak- 
tree  ;  they  were  not  as  heroic  as  the  tales  the  winds, 
the  clouds,  and  the  stars  told,  but  they  were  far 
sweeter,  for  they  were  tales  of  contentment,  of 
humility,  of  love. 

So  the  old  age  of  the  oak-tree  was  grander 
than  his  youth. 

And  all  who  went  through  the  greenwood 
paused  to  behold  and  admire  the  beauty  of  the 
oak-tree  then ;  for  about  his  seared  and  broken 
trunk  the  gentle  vine  had  so  entwined  her  grace 
ful  tendrils  and  spread  her  fair  foliage  that  one 
saw  not  the  havoc  of  the  years  nor  the  ruin  of  the 
tempest,  but  only  the  glory  of  the  oak-tree's  age, 
which  was  the  ivy's  love  and  ministering. 

1886. 


MARGARET:    A    PEARL 


MARGARET:    A    PEARL 


N  a  certain  part  of  the  sea,  very  many 
leagues  from  here,  there  once  lived  a 
large  family  of  oysters  noted  for  their 
beauty  and  size.  But  among  them 
was  one  so  small,  so  feeble,  and  so  ill-looking  as 
to  excite  the  pity,  if  not  the  contempt,  of  all  the 
others.  The  father,  a  venerable,  bearded  oyster, 
of  august  appearance  and  solemn  deportment,  was 
much  mortified  that  one  of  his  family  should  hap 
pen  to  be  so  sickly ;  and  he  sent  for  all  the  doc 
tors  in  the  sea  to  come  and  treat  her ;  from  which 
circumstance  you  are  to  note  that  doctors  are  an 
evil  to  be  met  with  not  alone  upon  terra  firma. 
The  first  to  come  was  Dr.  Porpoise,  a  gentleman 
of  the  old  school,  who  floundered  around  in  a  very 
important  manner  and  was  full  of  imposing  cere 
monies. 

"  Let  me  look  at  your  tongue,"  said  Dr.  Por 
poise,  stroking  his  beard  with  one  fin,  impres 
sively.  "Ahem!  somewhat  coated,  I  see.  And 


98  PROFITABLE    TALES 

your  pulse  is  far  from  normal ;  no  appetite,  I  pre 
sume?  Yes,  my  dear,  your  system  is  sadly  out 
of  order.  You  need  medicine." 

The  little  oyster  hated  medicine ;  so  she  cried 
—  yes,  she  actually  shed  cold,  briny  tears  at  the 
very  thought  of  taking  old  Dr.  Porpoise's  pre 
scriptions.  But  the  father-oyster  and  the  mother- 
oyster  chided  her  sternly ;  they  said  that  the  medi 
cine  would  be  nice  and  sweet,  and  that  the  little 
oyster  would  like  it.  But  the  little  oyster  knew 
better  than  all  that ;  yes,  she  knew  a  thing  or  two, 
even  though  she  -was  only  a  little  oyster. 

Now  Dr.  Porpoise  put  a  plaster  on  the  little 
oyster's  chest  and  a  blister  at  her  feet.  He  bade 
her  eat  nothing  but  a  tiny  bit  of  sea-foam  on  toast 
twice  a  day.  Every  two  hours  she  was  to  take  a 
spoonful  of  cod-liver  oil,  and  before  each  meal  a 
wineglassful  of  the  essence  of  distilled  cuttlefish. 
The  plaster  she  didn't  mind,  but  the  blister  and 
the  cod-liver  oil  were  terrible ;  and  when  it  came 
to  the  essence  of  distilled  cuttlefish — well,  she  just 
couldn't  stand  it !  In  vain  her  mother  reasoned 
with  her,  and  promised  her  anew  doll  and  a  skip 
ping-rope  and  a  lot  of  other  nice  things  :  the  little 
oyster  would  have  none  of  the  horrid  drug ;  until 
at  last  her  father,  abandoning  his  dignity  in  order 
to  maintain  his  authority,  had  to  hold  her  down 
by  main  strength  and  pour  the  medicine  into  her 
mouth.  This  was,  as  you  will  allow,  quite 
dreadful. 


MARGARET:    A    PEARL 


99 


But  this  treatment  did  the  little  oyster  no  good ; 
and  her  parents  made  up  their  minds  that  they 
would  send  for  another  doctor,  and  one  of  a  dif 
ferent  school.  Fortunately  they  were  in  a  posi 
tion  to  indulge  in  almost  any  expense,  since  the 
father-oyster  himself  was  president  of  one  of  the 
largest  banks  of  Newfoundland.  So  Dr.  Sculpin 
came  with  his  neat  little  medicine-box  under  his 
arm.  And  when  he  had  looked  at  the  sick  little 
oyster's  tongue,  and  had  taken  her  temperature, 
and  had  felt  her  pulse,  he  said  he  knew  what  ailed 
her;  but  he  did  not  tell  anybody  \vhat  it  was. 
He  threw  away  the  plasters,  the  blisters,  the  cod- 
liver  oil,  and  the  essence  of  distilled  cuttlefish, 
and  said  it  was  a  wonder  that  the  poor  child  had 
lived  through  it  all ! 

"  Will  you  please  bring  me  two  tumblerfuls  of 
water?"  he  remarked  to  the  mother-oyster. 

The  mother-oyster  scuttled  away,  and  soon  re 
turned  with  two  conch-shells  filled  to  the  brim 
with  pure,  clear  sea-water.  Dr.  Sculpin  counted 
three  grains  of  white  sand  into  one  shell,  and 
three  grains  of  yellow  sand  into  the  other  shell, 
with  great  care. 

"  Now,"  said  he  to  the  mother-oyster,  "  I  have 
numbered  these  I  and  2.  First  you  are  to  give 
the  patient  ten  drops  out  of  No.  2,  and  in  an  hour 
after  that,  eight  drops  out  of  No.  i ;  the  next  hour, 
eight  drops  out  of  No.  2  ;  and  the  next,  or  fourth, 
hour,  ten  drops  out  of  No.  i.  And  so  you  are  to 


ioo  PROFITABLE   TALES 

continue  hour  by  hour,  until  either  the  medicine 
or  the  child  gives  out." 

"  Tell  me,  doctor,"  asked  the  mother,  "  shall 
she  continue  the  food  suggested  by  Dr.  Por 
poise? " 

"What  food  did  he  recommend?"  inquired 
Dr.  Sculpin. 

"  Sea-foam  on  toast,"  answered  the  mother. 

Dr.  Sculpin  smiled  a  smile  which  seemed  to 
suggest  that  Dr.  Porpoise's  ignorance  was  really 
quite  annoying. 

"My  dear  madam,"  said  Dr.  Sculpin,  "the 
diet  suggested  by  that  quack,  Porpoise,  passed 
out  of  the  books  years  ago.  Give  the  child  toast 
on  sea-foam,  if  you  wish  to  build  up  her  debili 
tated  forces." 

Now  the  sick  little  oyster  did  not  object  to  this 
treatment ;  on  the  contrary,  she  liked  it.  But  it 
did  her  no  good.  And  one  day,  when  she  was 
feeling  very  dry,  she  drank  both  tumbler fuls  of 
medicine,  and  it  did  not  do  her  any  harm ;  neither 
did  it  cure  her :  she  remained  the  same  sick  little 
oyster  —  oh,  so  sick!  This  pained  her  parents 
very  much.  They  did  not  know  what  to  do. 
They  took  her  travelling ;  they  gave  her  into  the 
care  of  the  eel  for  electric  treatment ;  they  sent 
her  to  the  Gulf  Stream  for  warm  baths  —  they 
tried  evfrything,  but  to  no  avail.  The  sick  little 
oyster  remained  a  sick  little  oyster,  and  there  was 
an  end  of  it. 


MARGARpT:, 


At  last  one  day  —  "ftriV  cYsel,>  fatal  day-,—  a'lior-' 
rid,  fierce-looking  machine  was  poked  down  from 
the  surface  of  the  water  far  above,  and  with  slow 
but  intrepid  movement  began  exploring  every  nook 
and  crevice  of  the  oyster-village.  There  was  not 
a  family  into  which  it  did  not  intrude,  nor  a  home 
circle  whose  sanctity  it  did  not  ruthlessly  invade. 
It  scraped  along  the  great  mossy  rock;  and  lo! 
with  a  monstrous  scratchy-te-scratch,  the  mother- 
oyster  and  the  father-oyster  and  hundreds  of  other 
oysters  were  torn  from  their  resting-places  and 
borne  aloft  in  a  very  jumbled  and  very  frightened 
condition  by  the  impertinent  machine.  Then 
down  it  came  again,  and  the  sick  little  oyster 
was  among  the  number  of  those  who  were  seized 
by  the  horrid  monster  this  time.  She  found  her 
self  raised  to  the  top  of  the  sea;  and  all  at  once 
she  was  bumped  in  a  boat,  where  she  lay,  puny 
and  helpless,  on  a  huge  pile  of  other  oysters. 
Two  men  were  handling  the  fierce-looking  ma 
chine.  A  little  boy  sat  in  the  stern  of  the  boat 
watching  the  huge  pile  of  oysters.  He  was  a 
pretty  little  boy,  with  bright  eyes  and  long  tangled 
hair.  He  wore  no  hat,  and  his  feet  were  bare  and 
brown. 

"What  a  funny  little  oyster!"  said  the  boy, 
picking  up  the  sick  little  oyster;  "  it  is  no  bigger 
than  my  thumb,  and  it  is  very  pale." 

"  Throw  it  away,"  said  one  of  the  men.  "  Like 
as  not  it  is  bad  and  not  fit  to  eat." 


log  PROFITABLE   TALES 


Jt;,and,  send  it  out  West  for  a  Blue 
Point,"  said  the  other  man  —  what  a  heartless 
wretch  he  was  ! 

But  the  little  boy  had  already  thrown  the  sick 
little  oyster  overboard.  She  fell  in  shallow  water, 
and  the  rising  tide  carried  her  still  farther  toward 
shore,  until  she  lodged  against  an  old  gum  boot 
that  lay  half  buried  in  the  sand.  There  were  no 
other  oysters  in  sight.  Her  head  ached  and  she 
was  very  weak;  how  lonesome,  too,  she  was!  — 
yet  anything  was  better  than  being  eaten;  at 
least  so  thought  the  little  oyster,  and  so,  I  pre 
sume,  think  you. 

For  many  weeks  and  many  months  the  sick 
little  oyster  lay  hard  by  the  old  gum  boot  ;  and  in 
that  time  she  made  many  acquaintances  and  friends 
among  the  crabs,  the  lobsters,  the  fiddlers,  the 
starfish,  the  waves,  the  shells,  and  the  gay  little 
fishes  of  the  ocean.  They  did  not  harm  her,  for 
they  saw  that  she  was  sick  ;  they  pitied  her  —  some 
loved  her.  The  one  that  loved  her  most  was  the 
perch  with  green  fins  that  attended  school  every 
day  in  the  academic  shade  of  the  big  rocks  in  the 
quiet  cove  about  a  mile  away.  He  was  very  gen 
tle  and  attentive,  and  every  afternoon  he  brought 
fresh  cool  sea-foam  for  the  sick  oyster  to  eat  ;  he 
told  her  pretty  stories,  too  —  stories  which  his 
grandmother,  the  venerable  codfish,  had  told  him 
of  the  sea-king,  the  mermaids,  the  pixies,  the 
water-sprites,  and  the  other  fantastically  beautiful 


MARGARET:   A   PEARL  103 

dwellers  in  ocean  depths.  Now,  while  all  this 
was  very  pleasant,  the  sick  little  oyster  knew  that 
the  perch's  wooing  was  hopeless,  for  she  was  very 
ill  and  helpless,  and  could  never  think  of  becom 
ing  a  burden  upon  one  so  young  and  so  promising 
as  the  gallant  perch  with  green  fins.  But  when 
she  spoke  to  him  in  this  strain,  he  would  not 
listen ;  he  kept  right  on  bringing  her  more  and 
more  cool  sea-foam  every  day. 

The  old  gum  boot  was  quite  a  motherly  creature, 
and  anon  the  sick  little  oyster  became  very  much 
attached  to  her.  Many  times  as  the  little  invalid 
rested  her  aching  head  affectionately  on  the  instep 
of  the  old  gum  boot,  the  old  gum  boot  told  her 
stories  of  the  world  beyond  the  sea :  how  she  had 
been  born  in  a  mighty  forest,  and  how  proud  her 
folks  were  of  their  family  tree ;  how  she  had  been 
taken  from  that  forest  and  moulded  into  the  shape 
she  now  bore ;  how  she  had  graced  and  served  a 
foot  in  amphibious  capacities,  until  at  last,  having 
seen  many  things  and  having  travelled  much,  she 
had  been  cast  off  and  hurled  into  the  sea  to  be  the 
scorn  of  every  crab  and  the  derision  of  every  fish. 
These  stories  were  all  new  to  the  little  oyster,  and 
amazing,  too ;  she  knew  only  of  the  sea,  having 
lived  therein  all  her  life.  She  in  turn  told  the  old 
gum  boot  quaint  legends  of  the  ocean  —  the  simple 
tales  she  had  heard  in  her  early  home ;  and  there 
was  a  sweetness  and  a  simplicity  in  these  stories 
of  the  deep  that  charmed  the  old  gum  boot,  shriv- 


io4  PROFITABLE   TALES 

elled  and  hardened  and  pessimistic  though  she 
was. 

Yet,  in  spite  of  it  all  —  the  kindness,  the  care, 
the  amusements,  and  the  devotion  of  her  friends 
— the  little  oyster  remained  always  a  sick  and 
fragile  thing.  But  no  one  heard  her  complain, 
for  she  bore  her  suffering  patiently. 

Not  far  from  this  beach,  where  the  ocean  ended 
its  long  travels,  there  was  a  city,  and  in  this  city 
there  dwelt  with  her  parents  a  maiden  of  the  name 
of  Margaret.  From  infancy  she  had  been  sickly, 
and  although  she  had  now  reached  the  years  of 
early  womanhood,  she  could  not  run  or  walk  about 
as  others  did,  but  she  had  to  be  wheeled  hither 
and  thither  in  a  chair.  This  was  very  sad ;  yet 
Margaret  was  so  gentle  and  uncomplaining  that 
from  aught  she  said  you  never  would  have  thought 
her  life  was  full  of  suffering.  Seeing  her  helpless 
ness,  the  sympathetic  things  of  Nature  had  com 
passion  and  were  very  good  to  Margaret.  The 
sunbeams  stole  across  her  pathway  everywhere, 
the  grass  clustered  thickest  and  greenest  where 
she  went,  the  winds  caressed  her  gently  as  they 
passed,  and  the  birds  loved  to  perch  near  her 
window  and  sing  their  prettiest  songs.  Margaret 
loved  them  all  —  the  sunlight,  the  singing  winds, 
the  grass,  the  carolling  birds.  She  communed 
with  them ;  their  wisdom  inspired  her  life,  and 
this  wisdom  gave  her  nature  a  rare  beauty. 

Every  pleasant  day  Margaret  was  wheeled  from 


MARGARET:    A    PEARL  105 

her  home  in  the  city  down  to  the  beach,  and  there 
for  hours  she  would  sit,  looking  out,  far  out  upon 
the  ocean,  as  if  she  were  communing  with  the 
ocean  spirits  that  lifted  up  their  white  arms  from 
the  restless  waters  and  beckoned  her  to  come. 
Oftentimes  the  children  playing  on  the  beach 
came  where  Margaret  sat,  and  heard  her  tell  little 
stories  of  the  pebbles  and  the  shells,  of  the  ships 
away  out  at  sea,  of  the  ever-speeding  gulls,  of  the 
grass,  of  the  flowers,  and  of  the  other  beautiful 
things  of  life ;  and  so  in  time  the  children  came 
to  love  Margaret.  Among  those  who  so  often 
gathered  to  hear  the  gentle  sick  girl  tell  her  pretty 
stories  was  a  youth  of  Margaret's  age  —  older  than 
the  others,  a  youth  with  sturdy  frame  and  a  face 
full  of  candor  and  earnestness.  His  name  was 
Edward,  and  he  was  a  student  in  the  city;  he 
hoped  to  become  a  great  scholar  sometime,  and  he 
toiled  very  zealously  to  that  end.  The  patience, 
the  gentleness,  the  sweet  simplicity,  the  fortitude 
of  the  sick  girl  charmed  him.  He  found  in  her 
little  stories  a  quaint  and  beautiful  philosophy  he 
never  yet  had  found  in  books  ;  there  was  a  valor  in 
her  life  he  never  yet  had  read  of  in  the  histories. 
So,  every  day  she  came  and  sat  upon  the  beach, 
Edward  came  too  ;  and  with  the  children  he  heard 
Margaret's  stories  of  the  sea,  the  air,  the  grass, 
the  birds,  and  the  flowers. 

From  her  moist  eyrie  in  the  surf  the  old  gum 
boot   descried   the  group   upon   the   beach   each 


io6  PROFITABLE    TALES 

pleasant  day.  Now  the  old  gum  boot  had  seen 
enough  of  the  world  to  know  a  thing  or  two,  as 
we  presently  shall  see. 

"  That  tall  young  man  is  not  a  child,"  quoth 
the  old  gum  boot,  "  yet  he  comes  every  day  with 
the  children  to  hear  the  sick  girl  tell  her  stories  ! 
Ah,  ha!" 

"  Perhaps  he  is  the  doctor,"  suggested  the  little 
oyster;  and  then  she  added  with  a  sigh,  "but, 
oh!  I  hope  not." 

This  suggestion  seemed  to  amuse  the  old  gum 
boot  highly ;  at  least  she  fell  into  such  hysterical 
laughter  that  she  sprung  a  leak  near  her  little 
toe,  which,  considering  her  environments,  was  a 
serious  mishap. 

.  "  Unless  I  am  greatly  mistaken,  my  child," 
said  the  old  gum  boot  to  the  little  oyster,  "  that 
young  man  is  in  love  with  the  sick  girl!" 

"  Oh,  how  terrible!  "  said  the  little  oyster  ;  and 
she  meant  it,  too,  for  she  was  thinking  of  the  gal 
lant  young  perch  with  green  fins. 

"  Well,  I've  said  it,  and  I  mean  it!"  continued 
the  old  gum  boot;  "  now  just  wait  and  see." 

The  old  gum  boot  had  guessed  aright  —  so  much 
for  the  value  of  worldly  experience!  Edward 
loved  Margaret ;  to  him  she  was  the  most  beauti 
ful,  the  most  perfect  being  in  the  world ;  her  very 
words  seemed  to  exalt  his  nature.  Yet  he  never 
spoke  to  her  of  love.  He  was  content  to  come 
with  the  children  to  hear  her  stories,  to  look  upon 


MARGARET:    A    PEARL  107 

her  sweet  face,  and  to  worship  her  in  silence. 
Was  not  that  a  very  wondrous  love? 

In  course  of  time  the  sick  girl  Margaret  became 
more  interested  in  the  little  ones  that  thronged 
daily  to  hear  her  pretty  stories,  and  she  put 
her  beautiful  fancies  into  little  songs  and  quaint 
poems  and  tender  legends  —  songs  and  poems 
and  legends  about  the  sea,  the  flowers,  the  birds, 
and  the  other  beautiful  creations  of  Nature ;  and 
in  all  there  was  a  sweet  simplicity,  a  delicacy,  a 
reverence,  that  bespoke  Margaret's  spiritual  pur 
ity  and  wisdom.  In  this  teaching,  and  marvel 
ling  ever  at  its  beauty,  Edward  grew  to  manhood. 
She  was  his  inspiration,  yet  he  never  spoke  of 
love  to  Margaret.  And  so  the  years  went  by. 

Beginning  with  the  children,  the  world  came 
to  know  the  sick  girl's  power.  Her  songs  were 
sung  in  every  home,  and  in  every  home  her  verses 
and  her  little  stories  were  repeated.  And  so  it 
was  that  Margaret  came  to  be  beloved  of  all,  but 
he  who  loved  her  best  spoke  never  of  his  love  to 
her. 

And  as  these  years  went  by,  the  sick  little 
oyster  lay  in  the  sea  cuddled  close  to  the  old  gum 
boot.  She  was  wearier  now  than  ever  before,  for 
there  was  no  cure  for  her  malady.  The  gallant 
perch  with  green  fins  was  very  sad,  for  his  woo 
ing  had  been  hopeless.  Still  he  was  devoted,  and 
still  he  came  each  day  to  the  little  oyster,  bring 
ing  her  cool  sea-foam  and  other  delicacies  of  the 


io8  PROFITABLE   TALES 

ocean.     Oh,  how  sick  the  little  oyster  was!     But 
the  end  came  at  last. 

The  children  were  on  the  beach  one  day,  wait 
ing  for  Margaret,  and  they  wondered  that  she  did 
not  come.  Presently,  grown  restless,  many  of  the 
boys  scampered  into  the  water  and  stood  there, 
with  their  trousers  rolled  up,  boldly  daring  the 
little  waves  that  rippled  up  from  the  overflow  of 
the  surf.  And  one  little  boy  happened  upon  the 
old  gum  boot.  It  was  a  great  discovery. 

"  See  the  old  gum  boot,"  cried  the  boy,  fish 
ing  it  out  of  the  water  and  holding  it  on  high. 
' '  And  here  is  a  little  oyster  fastened  to  it !  How 
funny!" 

The  children  gathered  round  the  curious  object 
on  the  beach.  None  of  them  had  ever  seen  such 
a  funny  old  gum  boot,  and  surely  none  of  them 
had  ever  seen  such  a  funny  little  oyster.  They 
tore  the  pale,  knotted  little  thing  from  her  foster- 
mother,  and  handled  her  with  such  rough  curiosity 
that  even  had  she  been  a  robust  oyster  she  must 
certainly  have  died.  At  any  rate,  the  little  oyster 
was  dead  now ;  and  the  bereaved  perch  with  green 
fins  must  have  known  it,  for  he  swam  up  and 
down  his  native  cove  disconsolately. 

It  befell  in  that  same  hour  that  Margaret  lay 
upon  her  death-bed,  and  knowing  that  she  had  not 
long  to  live,  she  sent  for  Edward.  And  Edward, 
when  he  came  to  her,  was  filled  with  anguish,  and 
clasping  her  hands  in  his,  he  told  her  of  his  love. 


MARGARET:    A   PEARL  109 

Then  Margaret  answered  him,  "  I  knew  it,  dear 
one ;  and  all  the  songs  I  have  sung  and  all  the 
words  I  have  spoken  and  all  the  prayers  I  have 
made  have  been  with  you,  dear  one  —  all  with  you 
in  my  heart  of  hearts." 

"  You  have  purified  and  exalted  my  life,"  cried 
Edward;  "  you  have  been  my  best  and  sweetest 
inspiration  ;  you  have  taught  me  the  eternal  truth 
—  you  are  my  beloved!" 

And  Margaret  said,  "  Then  in  my  weak 
ness  hath  there  been  a  wondrous  strength,  and 
from  my  sufferings  cometh  the  glory  I  have 
sought!" 

So  Margaret  died,  and  like  a  broken  lily  she 
lay  upon  her  couch ;  and  all  the  sweetness  of  her 
pure  and  gentle  life  seemed  to  come  back  and  rest 
upon  her  face ;  and  the  songs  she  had  sung  and 
the  beautiful  stories  she  had  told  came  back,  too, 
on  angel  wings,  and  made  sweet  music  in  that 
chamber. 

The  children  were  lingering  on  the  beach  when 
Edward  came  that  day.  He  could  hear  them  sing 
ing  the  songs  Margaret  had  taught  them.  They 
wondered  that  he  came  alone. 

"  See,"  cried  one  of  the  boys,  running  to  meet 
him  and  holding  a  tiny  shell  in  his  hand  — "  see 
what  we  have  found  in  this  strange  little  shell. 
Is  it  not  beautiful!" 

Edward  took  the  dwarfed,  misshapen  thing, 
and  lo!  it  held  a  beauteous  pearl. 


no  PROFITABLE   TALES 

O  little  sister  mine,  let  me  look  into  your  eyes 
and  read  an  inspiration  there  ;  let  me  hold  your 
thin  ^vhite  hand  and  knoiv  the  strength  of  a  phi 
losophy  more  beautifiil  than  human  knoivledge 
teaches  ;  let  me  see  in  your  dear,  patient  little  face 
and  hear  in  your  gentle  voice  the  untold  valor  of 
your  suffering  life.  Come,  little  sister,  let  me  fold 
you  in  my  arms  and  have  you  ever  'with  me,  that 
in  the  glory  of  your  faith  and  love  I  may  zvalk 
the  paths  of  wisdom  and  of  peace. 

1887. 


THE    SPRINGTIME 


THE    SPRINGTIME 


CHILD  once  said  to  his  grandsire, 
"  Gran'pa,  what  do  the  flowers  mean 
when  they  talk  to  the  old  oak-tree 
about  death?  I  hear  them  talking 
every  day,  but  I  cannot  understand ;  it  is  all  very 
strange." 

The  grandsire  bade  the  child  think  no  more  of 
these  things ;  the  flowers  were  foolish  prattlers 
—  what  right  had  they  to  put  such  notions  into  a 
child's  head?  But  the  child  did  not  do  his  grand- 
sire's  bidding;  he  loved  the  flowers  and  the  trees, 
and  he  went  each  day  to  hear  them  talk. 

It  seems  that  the  little  vine  down  by  the  stone 
wall  had  overheard  the  south  wind  say  to  the 
rose-bush,  "  You  are  a  proud,  imperious  beauty 
now,  and  will  not  listen  to  my  suit ;  but  wait  till 
my  boisterous  brother  comes  from  the  North  — 
then  you  will  droop  and  wither  and  die,  all  be 
cause  you  would  not  listen  to  me  and  fly  with  me 
to  my  home  by  the  Southern  sea." 


n4  PROFITABLE  TALES 

These  words  set  the  little  vine  to  thinking ;  and 
when  she  had  thought  for  a  long  time  she  spoke 
to  the  daisy  about  it,  and  the  daisy  called  in  the 
violet,  and  the  three  little  ones  had  a  very  serious 
conference;  but,  having  talked  it  all  over,  they 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  as  much  of  a 
mystery  as  ever.  The  old  oak-tree  saw  them. 

' '  You  little  folks  seem  very  much  puzzled  about 
something,"  said  the  old  oak-tree. 

"  I  heard  the  south  wind  tell  the  rosebush  that 
she  would  die,"  exclaimed  the  vine,  "  and  we  do 
not  understand  what  it  is.  Can  you  tell  us  what 
it  is  to  die?  " 

The  old  oak-tree  smiled  sadly. 

"  I  do  not  call  it  death,"  said  the  old  oak-tree ; 
"  I  call  it  sleep  —  a  long,  restful,  refreshing 
sleep." 

"  How  does  it  feel?  "  inquired  the  daisy,  look 
ing  very  full  of  astonishment  and  anxiety. 

"  You  must  know,"  said  the  old  oak-tree, 
"  that  after  many,  many  days  we  all  have  had 
such  merry  times  and  have  bloomed  so  long  and 
drunk  so  heartily  of  the  dew  and  sunshine  and 
eaten  so  much  of  the  goodness  of  the  earth  that 
we  feel  very  weary  and  we  long  for  repose.  Then 
a  great  wind  comes  out  of  the  North,  and  we  shiver 
in  its  icy  blast.  The  sunshine  goes  away,  and 
there  is  no  dew  for  us  nor  any  nourishment  in  the 
earth,  and  we  are  glad  to  go  to  sleep." 

"  Mercy  on  me!"  cried  the  vine,  "  I  shall  not 


THE  SPRINGTIME  115 

like  that  at  all !  What,  leave  this  smiling  meadow 
and  all  the  pleasant  grass  and  singing  bees  and 
frolicsome  butterflies?  No,  old  oak-tree,  I  would 
never  go  to  sleep ;  I  much  prefer  sporting  with 
the  winds  and  playing  with  my  little  friends,  the 
daisy  and  the  violet." 

"  And  I,"  said  the  violet  —  "  I  think  it  would 
be  dreadful  to  go  to  sleep.  What  if  we  never 
should  wake  up  again!" 

The  suggestion  struck  the  others  dumb  with 
terror  —  all  but  the  old  oak-tree. 

"  Have  no  fear  of  that,"  said  the  old  oak-tree, 
"  for  you  are  sure  to  awaken  again,  and  when  you 
have  awakened  the  new  life  will  be  sweeter  and 
happier  than  the  old." 

"What  nonsense!"  cried  the  thistle.  "You 
children  shouldn't  believe  a  word  of  it.  When 
you  go  to  sleep  you  die,  and  when  you  die  there's 
the  last  of  you!" 

The  old  oak-tree  reproved  the  thistle ;  but  the 
thistle  maintained  his  abominable  heresy  so  stoutly 
that  the  little  vine  and  the  daisy  and  the  violet 
were  quite  at  a  loss  to  know  which  of  the  two  to 
believe  —  the  old  oak-tree  or  the  thistle. 

The  child  heard  it  all  and  was  sorely  puzzled. 
What  was  this  death,  this  mysterious  sleep? 
Would  it  come  upon  him,  the  child?  And  after 
he  had  slept  awhile  would  he  awaken?  His 
grandsire  would  not  tell  him  of  these  things ; 
perhaps  his  grandsire  did  not  know. 


n6  PROFITABLE   TALES 

It  was  a  long,  long  summer,  full  of  sunshine 
and  bird-music,  and  the  meadow  was  like  a  garden, 
and  the  old  oak-tree  looked  down  upon  the  grass 
and  flowers  and  saw  that  no  evil  befell  them.  A 
long,  long  play-day  it  was  to  the  little  vine,  the 
daisy,  and  the  violet.  The  crickets  and  the  grass 
hoppers  and  the  bumblebees  joined  in  the  sport, 
and  romped  and  made  music  till  it  seemed  like  an 
endless  carnival.  Only  every  now  and  then  the 
vine  and  her  little  flower  friends  talked  with  the 
old  oak-tree  about  that  strange  sleep  and  the 
promised  awakening,  and  the  thistle  scoffed  at  the 
old  oak-tree's  cheering  words.  The  child  was 
there  and  heard  it  all. 

One  day  the  great  wind  came  out  of  the  North. 
Hurry-scurry!  back  to  their  warm  homes  in  the 
earth  and  under  the  old  stone  wall  scampered  the 
crickets  and  bumblebees  to  go  to  sleep.  Whirr! 
whirr!  Oh,  but  how  piercing  the  great  wind 
was  ;  how  different  from  his  amiable  brother  who 
had  travelled  all  the  way  from  the  Southern  sea  to 
kiss  the  flowers  and  woo  the  rose! 

"  Well,  this  is  the  last  of  us!"  exclaimed  the 
thistle;  "  we're  going  to  die,  and  that's  the  end 
of  it  all!" 

"  No,  no,"  cried  the  old  oak-tree;  "  we  shall 
not  die ;  we  are  going  to  sleep.  Here,  take  my 
leaves,  little  flowers,  and  you  shall  sleep  warm 
under  them.  Then,  when  you  awaken,  you  shall 
see  how  much  sweeter  and  happier  the  new  life  is. " 


THE  SPRINGTIME  117 

The  little  ones  were  very  weary  indeed.  The 
promised  sleep  came  very  gratefully. 

"  We  would  not  be  so  willing  to  go  to  sleep  if 
we  thought  we  should  not  awaken,"  said  the 
violet. 

So  the  little  ones  went  to  sleep.  The  little 
vine  was  the  last  of  all  to  sink  to  her  slumbers ; 
she  nodded  in  the  wind  and  tried  to  keep  awake 
till  she  saw  the  old  oak-tree  close  his  eyes,  but 
her  efforts  were  vain ;  she  nodded  and  nodded,  and 
bowed  her  slender  form  against  the  old  stone  wall, 
till  finally  she,  too,  had  sunk  into  repose.  And 
then  the  old  oak-tree  stretched  his  weary  limbs 
and  gave  a  last  look  at  the  sullen  sky  and  at  the 
slumbering  little  ones  at  his  feet ;  and  with  that 
the  old  oak-tree  fell  asleep  too. 

The  child  saw  all  these  things,  and  he  wanted 
to  ask  his  grandsire  about  them,  but  his  grandsire 
would  not  tell  him  of  them ;  perhaps  his  grandsire 
did  not  know. 

The  child  saw  the  storm-king  come  down  from 
the  hills  and  ride  furiously  over  the  meadows  and 
over  the  forest  and  over  the  town.  The  snow  fell 
everywhere,  and  the  north  wind  played  solemn 
music  in  the  chimneys.  The  storm-king  put  the 
brook  to  bed,  and  threw  a  great  mantle  of  snow 
over  him ;  and  the  brook  that  had  romped  and 
prattled  all  the  summer  and  told  pretty  tales  to  the 
grass  and  flowers  —  the  brook  went  to  sleep  too. 
With  all  his  fierceness  and  bluster,  the  storm-king 


ii8  PROFITABLE   TALES 

was  very  kind ;  he  did  not  awaken  the  old  oak-tree 
and  the  slumbering  flowers.  The  little  vine  lay 
under  the  fleecy  snow  against  the  old  stone  wall 
and  slept  peacefully,  and  so  did  the  violet  and  the 
daisy.  Only  the  wicked  old  thistle  thrashed  about 
in  his  sleep  as  if  he  dreamt  bad  dreams,  which,  all 
will  allow,  was  no  more  than  he  deserved. 

All  through  that  winter  —  and  it  seemed  very 
long — the  child  thought  of  the  flowers  and  the 
vine  and  the  old  oak-tree,  and  wondered  whether 
in  the  springtime  they  would  awaken  from  their 
sleep ;  and  he  wished  for  the  springtime  to  come. 
And  at  last  the  springtime  came.  One  day  the 
sunbeams  fluttered  down  from  the  sky  and  danced 
all  over  the  meadow. 

"  Wake  up,  little  friends! "  cried  the  sunbeams 
— "  wake  up,  for  it  is  the  springtime!" 

The  brook  was  the  first  to  respond.  So  eager, 
so  fresh,  so  exuberant  was  he  after  his  long  winter 
sleep,  that  he  leaped  from  his  bed  and  frolicked 
all  over  the  meadow  and  played  all  sorts  of  curious 
antics.  Then  a  little  bluebird  was  seen  in  the 
hedge  one  morning.  He  was  calling  to  the 
violet. 

"  Wake  up,  little  violet!"  called  the  bluebird. 
"  Have  I  come  all  this  distance  to  find  you  sleep 
ing?  Wake  up;  it  is  the  springtime!" 

That  pretty  little  voice  awakened  the  violet,  of 
course. 

"Oh,  how  sweetly  I  have  slept!"  cried  the 


THE  SPRINGTIME  119 

violet ;  "  how  happy  this  new  life  is !  Welcome, 
dear  friends!" 

And  presently  the  daisy  awakened,  fresh  and 
beautiful,  and  then  the  little  vine,  and,  last  of  all, 
the  old  oak-tree.  The  meadow  was  green,  and 
all  around  there  were  the  music,  the  fragrance, 
the  new,  sweet  life  of  the  springtime. 

"  I  slept  horribly,"  growled  the  thistle.  "  I 
had  bad  dreams.  It  was  sleep,  after  all,  but  it 
ought  to  have  been  death." 

The  thistle  never  complained  again;  for  just 
then  a  four-footed  monster  stalked  through  the 
meadow  and  plucked  and  ate  the  thistle  and  then 
stalked  gloomily  away;  which  was  the  last  of  the 
sceptical  thistle  —  truly  a  most  miserable  end! 

"  You  said  the  truth,  dear  old  oak-tree!"  cried 
the  little  vine.  "  It  was  not  death  —  it  was  only 
a  sleep,  a  sweet,  refreshing  sleep,  and  this 
awakening  is  very  beautiful." 

They  all  said  so  —  the  daisy,  the  violet,  the 
oak-tree,  the  crickets,  the  bees,  and  all  the  things 
and  creatures  of  the  field  and  forest  that  had 
awakened  from  their  long  sleep  to  swell  the 
beauty  and  the  glory  of  the  springtime.  And 
they  talked  with  the  child,  and  the  child  heard 
them.  And  although  the  grandsire  never  spoke 
to  the  child  about  these  things,  the  child  learned 
from  the  flowers  and  trees  a  lesson  of  the  spring 
time  which  perhaps  the  grandsire  never  knew. 

1885. 


RODOLPH   AND    HIS    KING 


RODOLPH    AND    HIS    KING 


ELL  me,  father,"  said  the  child  at 
Rodolph's  knee  — "tell  me  of  the 
king." 

"  There  is  no  king,  my  child,"  said 
Rodolph.  "  What  you  have  heard  are  old 
women's  tales.  Do  not  believe  them,  for  there 
is  no  king." 

"  But  why,  then,"  queried  the  child,  "  do  all 
the  people  praise  and  call  on  him ;  why  do  the 
birds  sing  of  the  king ;  and  why  do  the  brooks 
always  prattle  his  name,  as  they  dance  from  the 
hills  to  the  sea  ?  " 

"Nay,"  answered  Rodolph,  "you  imagine 
these  things ;  there  is  no  king.  Believe  me, 
child,  there  is  no  king." 

So  spake  Rodolph ;  but  scarcely  had  he  uttered 
the  words  when  the  cricket  in  the  chimney-corner 
chirped  loudly,  and  his  shrill  notes  seemed  to  say, 
"  The  king  — the  king!"  Rodolph  could  hardly 
believe  his  ears.  How  had  the  cricket  learned  to 


i24  PROFITABLE   TALES 

chirp  these  words  ?  It  was  beyond  all  under 
standing.  But  still  the  cricket  chirped,  and  still 
his  musical  monotone  seemed  to  say,  "  The  king 
—  the  king! "  until,  with  an  angry  frown,  Rodolph 
strode  from  his  house,  leaving  the  child  to  hear 
the  cricket's  song  alone. 

But  there  were  other  voices  to  remind  Rodolph 
of  the  king.  The  sparrows  were  fluttering  under 
the  eaves,  and  they  twittered  noisily,  as  Rodolph 
strode  along,  "The  king,  king,  king!"  "The 
king,  king,  king!"  twittered  the  sparrows,  and 
their  little  tones  were  full  of  gladness  and  praise. 
A  thrush  sat  in  the  hedge,  and  she  was  singing 

her  morning  song.    It  was  a  hymn  of  praise how 

beautiful  it  was!  "The  king— the  king— the 
king!"  sang  the  thrush,  and  she  sang,  too,  of  his 
goodness  ;  it  was  a  wondrous  song,  and  it  was  all 
about  the  king. 

The  doves  cooed  in  the  elm-trees.  "  Sing  to 
us!"  cried  their  little  ones,  stretching  out  their 
pretty  heads  from  the  nests.  Then  the  doves 
nestled  hard  by  and  murmured  lullabies,  and  the 
lullabies  were  of  the  king  who  watched  over  and 
protected  even  the  little  birds  in  their  nests. 

Rodolph  heard  these  things,  and  they  filled  him 
with  anger. 

"  It  is  a  lie!  "  muttered  Rodolph;  and  in  great 
petulance  he  came  to  the  brook. 

How  noisy  and  romping  the  brook  was  ;  how 
capricious,  how  playful,  how  furtive!  And  how  , 


RODOLPH  AND  HIS  KING  125 

he  called  to  the  willows  and  prattled  to  the  listen 
ing  grass  as  he  scampered  on  his  way!  But 
Rodolph  turned  aside  and  his  face  grew  darker. 
He  did  not  like  the  voice  of  the  brook;  for,  lo! 
just  as  the  cricket  had  chirped  and  the  birds  had 
sung,  so  did  this  brook  murmur  and  prattle  and 
sing  ever  of  the  king,  the  king,  the  king! 

So,  always  after  that,  wherever  Rodolph  went, 
he  heard  voices  that  told  him  of  the  king;  yes, 
even  in  their  quiet,  humble  way  the  flowers 
seemed  to  whisper  the  king's  name,  and  every 
breeze  that  fanned  his  brow  had  a  tale  to  tell  of 
the  king  and  his  goodness. 

"But  there  is  no  king!"  cried  Rodolph. 
"  They  all  conspire  to  plague  me!  There  is  no 
king  —  there  is  no  king!" 

Once  he  stood  by  the  sea  and  saw  a  mighty 
ship  go  sailing  by.  The  waves  plashed  on  the 
shore  and  told  stories  to  the  pebbles  and  the 
sands.  Rodolph  heard  their  thousand  voices, 
and  he  heard  them  telling  of  the  king. 

Then  a  great  storm  came  upon  the  sea — a 
tempest  such  as  never  before  had  been  seen. 
The  waves  dashed  mountain-high  and  over 
whelmed  the  ship,  and  the  giant  voices  of  the 
winds  and  waves  cried  of  the  king,  the  king! 
The  sailors  strove  in  agony  till  all  seemed  lost. 
Then,  when  they  could  do  no  more,  they  stretched 
out  their  hands  and  called  upon  the  king  to  save 
them  —  the  king,  the  king,  the  king! 


126  PROFITABLE    TALES 

Rodolph  saw  the  tempest  subside.  The  angry 
winds  were  lulled,  and  the  mountain  waves  sank 
into  sleep,  and  the  ship  came  safely  into  port. 
Then  the  sailors  sang  a  hymn  of  praise,  and  the 
hymn  was  of  the  king  and  to  the  king. 

"  But  there  is  no  king!"  cried  Rodolph.  "  It 
is  a  lie;  there  is  no  king  !" 

Yet  everywhere  he  went  he  heard  always  of  the 
king ;  the  king's  name  and  the  king's  praises  were 
on  every  tongue ;  ay,  and  the  things  that  had  no 
voices  seemed  to  wear  the  king's  name  written 
upon  them,  until  Rodolph  neither  saw  nor  heard 
anything  that  did  not  mind  him  of  the  king. 

Then,  in  great  anger,  Rodolph  said :  "  I  will  go 
to  the  mountain-tops  ;  there  I  shall  find  no  birds, 
nor  trees,  nor  brooks,  nor  flowers  to  prate  of  a 
monarch  no  one  has  ever  seen.  There  shall  there 
be  no  sea  to  vex  me  with  its  murmurings,  nor  any 
human  voice  todisplease  me  with  its  superstitions. " 

So  Rodolph  went  to  the  mountains,  and  he 
scaled  the  loftiest  pinnacle,  hoping  that  there  at 
last  he  might  hear  no  more  of  that  king  whom 
none  had  ever  seen.  And  as  he  stood  upon  the 
pinnacle,  what  a  mighty  panorama  was  spread  be 
fore  him,  and  what  a  mighty  anthem  swelled  upon 
his  ears  !  The  peopled  plains,  with  their  songs 
and  murmurings,  lay  far  below ;  on  every  side  the 
mountain-peaks  loomed  up  in  snowy  grandeur ; 
and  overhead  he  saw  the  sky,  blue,  cold,  and 
cloudless,  from  horizon  to  horizon. 


RODOLPH  AND  HIS  KING  127 

What  voice  was  that  which  spoke  in  Rodolph's 
bosom  then  as  Rodolph's  eyes  beheld  this  reve 
lation  ? 

"  There  is  a  king  ! "  said  the  voice.  "  The  king 
lives,  and  this  is  his  abiding-place  !" 

And  how  did  Rodolph's  heart  stand  still  when 
he  felt  Silence  proclaim  the  king!  —  not  in  tones  of 
thunder,  as  the  tempest  had  proclaimed  him,  nor 
in  the  singing  voices  of  the  birds  and  brooks,  but 
so  swiftly,  so  surely,  so  grandly,  that  Rodolph's 
soul  was  filled  with  awe  ineffable. 

Then  Rodolph  cried:  "  There  is  a  king,  and  I 
acknowledge  him  !  Henceforth  my  voice  shall 
swell  the  songs  of  all  in  earth  and  air  and  sea  that 
know  and  praise  his  name  !" 

So  Rodolph  went  to  his  home.  He  heard  the 
cricket  singing  of  the  king ;  yes,  and  the  sparrows 
under  the  eaves,  the  thrush  in  the  hedge,  the 
doves  in  the  elms,  and  the  brook,  too,  all  singing 
of  the  king;  and  Rodolph's  heart  was  gladdened 
by  their  music.  And  all  the  earth  and  the  things 
of  the  earth  seemed  more  beautiful  to  Rodolph 
now  that  he  believed  in  the  king ;  and  to  the  song 
all  Nature  sang  Rodolph's  voice  and  Rodolph's 
heart  made  harmonious  response. 

"  There  is  a  king,  my  child,"  said  Rodolph  to 
his  little  one.  "  Together  let  us  sing  to  him,  for 
he  is  our  king,  and  his  goodness  abideth  forever 
and  forever." 

1885. 


THE    HAMPSHIRE    HILLS 


THE    HAMPSHIRE    HILLS 


NE  afternoon  many  years  ago  two  little 
brothers  named  Seth  and  Abner  were 
playing  in  the  orchard.  They  were 
not  troubled  with  the  heat  of  the  Au 
gust  day,  for  a  soft,  cool  wind  came  up  from  the 
river  in  the  valley  over  yonder,  and  fanned  their 
red  cheeks  and  played  all  kinds  of  pranks  with 
their  tangled  curls.  All  about  them  was  the  hum 
of  bees,  the  song  of  birds,  the  smell  of  clover,  and 
the  merry  music  of  the  crickets.  Their  little  dog 
Fido  chased  them  through  the  high,  waving 
grass,  and  rolled  with  them  under  the  trees,  and 
barked  himself  hoarse  in  his  attempt  to  keep  pace 
with  their  laughter.  Wearied  at  length,  they  lay 
beneath  the  bellflower-tree  and  looked  off  at  the 
Hampshire  hills,  and  wondered  if  the  time  ever 
would  come  when  they  should  go  out  into  the 
world  beyond  those  hills,  and  be  great,  noisy  men. 
Fido  did  not  understand  it  at  all.  He  lolled  in 
the  grass,  cooling  his  tongue  on  the  clover-bloom, 


i32  PROFITABLE    TALES 

and  puzzling  his  brain  to  know  why  his  little 
masters  were  so  quiet  all  at  once. 

"  I  wish  I  were  a  man,"  said  Abner,  ruefully. 
"  I  want  to  be  somebody  and  do  something.  It 
is  very  hard  to  be  a  little  boy  so  long,  and  to  have 
no  companions  but  little  boys  and  girls,  to  see 
nothing  but  these  same  old  trees  and  this  same 
high  grass,  and  to  hear  nothing  but  the  same  bird- 
songs  from  one  day  to  another." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Seth.  "  I,  too,  am  very 
tired  of  being  a  little  boy,  and  I  long  to  go  out 
into  the  world  and  be  a  man  like  my  gran'pa  or 
my  father  or  my  uncles.  With  nothing  to  look  at 
but  those  distant  hills  and  the  river  in  the  valley, 
my  eyes  are  wearied ;  and  I  shall  be  very  happy 
when  I  am  big  enough  to  leave  this  stupid  place." 

Had  Fido  understood  their  words  he  would 
have  chided  them,  for  the  little  dog  loved  his 
home,  and  had  no  thought  of  any  other  pleasure 
than  romping  through  the  orchard  and  playing 
with  his  little  masters  all  the  day.  But  Fido  did 
not  understand  them. 

The  clover-bloom  heard  them  with  sadness. 
Had  they  but  listened  in  turn  they  would  have 
heard  the  clover  saying  softly:  "  Stay  with  me 
while  you  may,  little  boys  ;  trample  me  with  your 
merry  feet ;  let  me  feel  the  imprint  of  your  curly 
heads  and  kiss  the  sunburn  on  your  little  cheeks. 
Love  me  while  you  may,  for  when  you  go  away 
you  never  will  come  back." 


THE  HAMPSHIRE  HILLS  133 

The  bell  flower-tree  heard  them,  too,  and  she 
waved  her  great,  strong  branches  as  if  she  would 
caress  the  impatient  little  lads,  and  she  whispered  : 
"  Do  not  think  of  leaving  me:  you  are  children, 
and  you  know  nothing  of  the  world  beyond  those 
distant  hills.  It  is  full  of  trouble  and  care  and 
sorrow ;  abide  here  in  this  quiet  spot  till  you  are 
prepared  to  meet  the  vexations  of  that  outer 
world.  We  are  for  you  —  we  trees  and  grass  and 
birds  and  bees  and  flowers.  Abide  with  us,  and 
learn  the  wisdom  we  teach." 

The  cricket  in  the  raspberry-hedge  heard  them, 
and  she  chirped,  oh  !  so  sadly  :  "  You  will  go  out 
into  the  world  and  leave  us,  and  never  think  of  us 
again  till  it  is  too  late  to  return.  Open  your 
ears,  little  boys,  and  hear  my  song  of  content 
ment." 

So  spake  the  clover-bloom  and  the  bellflower- 
tree  and  the  cricket ;  and  in  like  manner  the  robin 
that  nested  in  the  linden  over  yonder,  and  the  big 
bumblebee  that  lived  in  the  hole  under  the  pasture 
gate,  and  the  butterfly  and  the  wild  rose  pleaded 
with  them,  each  in  his  own  way;  but  the  little 
boys  did  not  heed  them,  so  eager  were  their  de 
sires  to  go  into  and  mingle  with  the  great  world 
beyond  those  distant  hills. 

Many  years  went  by  ;  and  at  last  Seth  and  Abner 
grew  to  manhood,  and  the  time  was  come  when 
they  were  to  go  into  the  world  and  be  brave,  strong 
men.  Fido  had  been  dead  a  long  time.  They 


i34  PROFITABLE    TALES 

had  made  him  a  grave  under  the  bellflower-tree  — 
yes,  just  where  he  had  romped  with  the  two  little 
boys  that  August  afternoon,  Fido  lay  sleeping 
amid  the  humming  of  the  bees  and  the  perfume 
of  the  clover.  But  Seth  and  Abner  did  not  think 
of  Fido  now,  nor  did  they  give  even  a  passing 
thought  to  any  of  their  old  friends  —  the  bell- 
flower-tree,  the  clover,  the  cricket,  and  the  robin. 
Their  hearts  beat  with  exultation.  They  were 
men,  and  they  were  going  beyond  the  hills  to 
know  and  try  the  world. 

They  were  equipped  for  that  struggle  not  in  a 
vain,  frivolous  way,  but  as  good  and  brave  young 
men  should  be.  A  gentle  mother  had  counselled 
them,  a  prudent  father  had  advised  them,  and  they 
had  gathered  from  the  sweet  things  of  Nature 
much  of  that  wisdom  before  which  all  knowl 
edge  is  as  nothing.  So  they  were  fortified.  They 
went  beyond  the  hills  and  came  into  the  West. 
How  great  and  busy  was  the  world  —  how  great 
and  busy  it  was  here  in  the  West  !  What  a  rush 
and  noise  and  turmoil  and  seething  and  surging, 
and  how  keenly  did  the  brothers  have  to  watch 
and  struggle  for  vantage-ground!  Withal,  they 
prospered ;  the  counsel  of  the  mother,  the  advice 
of  the  father,  the  wisdom  of  the  grass  and  flowers 
and  trees,  were  much  to  them,  and  they  prospered. 
Honor  and  riches  came  to  them,  and  they  were 
happy.  But,  amid  it  all,  how  seldom  they 
thought  of  the  little  home  among  the  circling  hills 


THE  HAMPSHIRE  HILLS  135 

where  they  had  learned  the  first  sweet  lessons  of 
life! 

And  now  they  were  old  and  gray.  They  lived 
in  splendid  mansions,  and  all  people  paid  them 
honor. 

One  August  day  a  grim  messenger  stood  in 
Seth's  presence  and  beckoned  to  him. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  cried  Seth.  "  What  strange 
power  have  you  over  me,  that  the  very  sight  of 
you  chills  my  blood  and  stays  the  beating  of  my 
heart  ?  " 

Then  the  messenger  threw  aside  his  mask,  and 
Seth  saw  that  he  was  Death.  Seth  made  no  out 
cry  ;  he  knew  what:  the  summons  meant,  and  he 
was  content.  But  he  sent  for  Abner. 

And  when  Abner  came,  Seth  was  stretched 
upon  his  bed,  and  there  was  a  strange  look  in  his 
eyes  and  a  flush  upon  his  cheeks,  as  though  a  fatal 
fever  had  laid  hold  on  him. 

"You  shall  not  die!"  cried  Abner,  and  he 
threw  himself  about  his  brother's  neck  and  wept. 

But  Seth  bade  Abner  cease  his  outcry.  "  Sit 
here  by  my  bedside  and  talk  with  me,"  said  he, 
"  and  let  us  speak  of  the  Hampshire  hills." 

A  great  wonder  overcame  Abner.  With  rever 
ence  he  listened,  and  as  he  listened,  a  sweet  peace 
seemed  to  steal  into  his  soul. 

"  I  am  prepared  for  Death,"  said  Seth,  "  and  I 
will  go  with  Death  this  day.  Let  us  talk  of  our 
childhood  now,  for,  after  all  the  battle  with  this 


136  PROFITABLE    TALES 

great  world,  it  is  pleasant  to  think  and  speak  of 
our  boyhood  among  the  Hampshire  hills." 

"  Say  on,  dear  brother,"  said  Abner. 

"  I  am  thinking  of  an  August  day  long  ago," 
said  Seth,  solemnly  and  softly.  "  It  was  so  very 
long  ago,  and  yet  it  seems  only  yesterday.  We 
were  in  the  orchard  together,  under  the  bellflower- 
tree,  and  our  little  dog — " 

"  Fido,"  said  Abner,  remembering  it  all,  as  the 
years  came  back. 

"  Fido  and  you  and  I,  under  the  bellflower- 
tree,"  said  Seth.  "  How  we  had  played,  and  how 
weary  we  were,  and  how  cool  the  grass  was,  and 
how  sweet  was  the  fragrance  of  the  flowers  ! 
Can  you  remember  it,  brother  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,"  replied  Abner,  "  and  I  remember 
how  we  lay  among  the  clover  and  looked  off  at  the 
distant  hills  and  wondered  of  the  world  beyond." 

' '  And  amid  our  wonderings  and  longings, "  said 
Seth,  "how  the  old  bellflower-tree  seemed  to 
stretch  her  kind  arms  down  to  us,  as  if  she  would 
hold  us  away  from  that  world  beyond  the  hills!" 

' '  And  now  I  can  remember  that  the  clover 
whispered  to  us,  and  the  cricket  in  the  raspberry- 
hedge  sang  to  us  of  contentment,"  said  Abner. 
"  The  robin,  too,  carolled  in  the  linden." 

"It  is  very  sweet  to  remember  it  now,"  said 
Seth.  "  How  blue  and  hazy  the  hills  looked; 
how  cool  the  breeze  bleAv  up  from  the  river ;  how- 
like  a  silver  lake  the  old  pickerel-pond  sweltered 


THE  HAMPSHIRE  HILLS  137 

under  the  summer  sun  over  beyond  the  pasture 
and  broom-corn,  and  how  merry  was  the  music  of 
the  birds  and  bees  ! " 

So  these  old  men,  who  had  been  little  boys  to 
gether,  talked  of  the  August  afternoon  when  with 
Fido  they  had  romped  in  the  orchard  and  rested 
beneath  the  bellflower-tree.  And  Seth's  voice 
grew  fainter,  and  his  eyes  were,  oh  !  so  dim ;  but 
to  the  very  last  he  spoke  of  the  dear  old  days  and 
the  orchard  and  the  clover  and  the  Hampshire 
hills.  And  when  Seth  fell  asleep  forever,  Abner 
kissed  his  brother's  lips  and  knelt  at  the  bedside 
and  said  the  prayer  his  mother  had  taught  him. 

In  the  street  without  there  was  the  noise  of 
passing  carts,  the  cries  of  tradespeople,  and  all  the 
bustle  of  a  great  and  busy  city ;  but,  looking  upon 
Seth's  dear,  dead  face,  Abner  could  hear  only  the 
music  voices  of  birds  and  crickets  and  summer 
winds  as  he  had  heard  them  with  Seth  when  they 
were  little  boys  together,  back  among  the  Hamp 
shire  hills. 

1885. 


EZRA'S  THANKSGIVIN'   OUT 
WEST 


EZRA'S  THANKSGIVIN'   OUT 
WEST 


ZRA  had  written  a  letter  to  the  home 
folks,  and  in  it  he  had  complained  that 
never  before  had  he  spent  such  a 
weary,  lonesome  day  as  this  Thanks 
giving  day  had  been.  Having  finished  this  letter, 
he  sat  for  a  long  time  gazing  idly  into  the  open  fire 
that  snapped  cinders  all  over  the  hearthstone  and 
sent  its  red  forks  dancing  up  the  chimney  to  join 
the  winds  that  frolicked  and  gambolled  across  the 
Kansas  prairies  that  raw  November  night.  It  had 
rained  hard  all  day,  and  was  cold ;  and  although  the 
open  fire  made  every  honest  effort  to  be  cheerful, 
Ezra,  as  he  sat  in  front  of  it  in  the  wooden  rocker 
and  looked  down  into  the  glowing  embers,  experi 
enced  a  dreadful  feeling  of  loneliness  and  home 
sickness. 

"  I'm  sick  o'  Kansas,"  said  Ezra  to  himself. 
"  Here  I've  been  in  this  plaguy  country  for  goin' 
on  a  year,  and  —  yes,  I'm  sick  of  it,  powerful  sick 


1 42  PROFITABLE   TALES 

of  it.  What  a  miser'ble  Thanksgivin'  this  has 
been  !  They  don't  know  what  Thanksgivin'  is 
out  this  way.  I  wish  I  was  back  in  ol'  Mass'- 
chusetts  —  that's  the  country  for  me,  and  they 
hev  the  kind  o'  Thanksgivin'  I  like  !" 

Musing  in  this  strain,  while  the  rain  went 
patter-patter  on  the  window-panes,  Ezra  saw  a 
strange  sight  in  the  fireplace  —  yes,  right  among 
the  embers  and  the  crackling  flames  Ezra  saw  a 
strange,  beautiful  picture  unfold  and  spread  itself 
out  like  a  panorama. 

"  How  very  wonderful  !  "  murmured  the  young 
man.  Yet  he  did  not  take  his  eyes  away,  for  the 
picture  soothed  him  and  he  loved  to  look  upon  it. 

"  It  is  a  pictur'  of  long  ago,"  said  Ezra,  softly. 
"  I  had  like  to  forgot  it,  but  now  it  comes  back  to 
me  as  nat'ral-like  as  an  ol'  friend.  An'  I  seem  to 
be  a  part  of  it,  an'  the  feelin'  of  that  time  comes 
back  with  the  pictur',  too." 

Ezra  did  not  stir.  His  head  rested  upon  his 
hand,  and  his  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  shadows 
in  the  firelight. 

"  It  is  a  pictur'  of  the  ol'  home,"  said  Ezra  to 
himself.  "  I  am  back  there  in  Belchertown,  with 
the  Holyoke  hills  up  north  an'  the  Berkshire 
mountains  a-loomin'  up  gray  an'  misty-like  in  the 
western  horizon.  Seems  as  if  it  wuz  early 
mornin';  everything  is  still,  and  it  is  so  cold 
when  we  boys  crawl  out  o'  bed  that,  if  it  wuzn't 
Thanksgivin'  mornin',  we'd  crawl  back  again  an' 


EZRA'S  THANKSGIVIN*  OUT  WEST      143 

wait  for  Mother  to  call  us.     But  it  is  Thanks- 
givin'  mornin',  an'  we're  goin'  skatin'  down  on 
the  pond.     The  squealin'  o'  the  pigs  has  told  us 
it  is  five  o'clock,  and  we  must  hurry ;  we're  goin' 
to  call  by  for  the  Dickerson  boys  an'  Hiram  Pea- 
body,  an'  we've  got  to  hyper  !      Brother  Amos 
gets  on  'bout  half  o'  my  clo'es,  and  I  get  on  'bout 
half  o'  his,  but  it's  all  the  same ;  they  are  stout, 
warm  clo'es,  and  they're  big  enough  to  fit  any  of 
us  boys  —  Mother  looked  out  for  that  when  she 
made  'em.     When  we  go  downstairs  we  find  the 
girls  there,  all  bundled  up  nice  an'  warm  —  Mary 
an'  Helen  an'  Cousin  Irene.     They're  goin'  with 
us,  an'  we  all  start  out  tiptoe  and  quiet-like  so's 
not  to  wake  up  the  oP  folks.     The  ground  is 
frozen  hard ;  we  stub  our  toes  on  the  frozen  ruts 
in  the  road.     When  we  come  to  the  minister's 
house,    Laura   is    standin'    on    the  front   stoop, 
a-waitin'  for  us.      Laura  is  the  minister's  daugh 
ter.     She's  a  friend  o'  Sister  Helen's  —  pretty  as 
a  dagerr'otype,  an'  gentle-like  and  tender.    Laura 
lets  me  carry  her  skates,  an'  I'm  glad  of  it,  al 
though  I  have  my  hands  full  already  with  the 
lantern,  the  hockies,  and  the  rest.     Hiram  Pea- 
body  keeps  us  waitin',  for  he  has  overslept  him 
self;  an'  when  he  comes  trottin'  out  at  last  the 
girls  make  fun  of  him  —  all  except  Sister  Mary, 
an'  she  sort  o'  sticks  up  for  Hiram,  an'  we're  all 
so  'cute  we  kind  o'  calc'late  we  know  the  reason 
why. 


i44  PROFITABLE   TALES 

"And  now,"  said  Ezra,  softly,  "the  pictur' 
changes ;  seems  as  if  I  could  see  the  pond.  The 
ice  is  like  a  black  lookin'-glass,  and  Hiram  Pea- 
body  slips  up  the  first  thing,  an'  down  he  comes 
lickety-split,  an'  we  all  laugh  —  except  Sister 
Mary,  an'  she  says  it  is  very  imp'lite  to  laugh  at 
other  folks'  misfortunes.  Ough  !  how  cold  it  is, 
and  how  my  fingers  ache  with  the  frost  when  I 
take  off  my  mittens  to  strap  on  Laura's  skates  ! 
But  oh,  how  my  cheeks  burn  !  And  how  care 
ful  I  am  not  to  hurt  Laura,  an'  how  I  ask  her  if 
that's  '  tight  enough,'  an'  how  she  tells  me  '  jist 
a  little  tighter,'  and  how  we  two  keep  foolin' 
along  till  the  others  hev  gone  an'  we  are  left 
alone  !  An'  how  quick  I  get  my  own  skates 
strapped  on  —  none  o'  your  newfangled  skates 
with  springs  an'  plates  an'  clamps  an'  such,  but 
honest,  ol'-fashioned  wooden  ones  with  steel  run 
ners  that  curl  up  over  my  toes  an'  have  a  bright 
brass  button  on  the  end  !  How  I  strap  'em  and 
lash  'em  and  buckle  'em  on  !  An'  Laura  waits 
for  me  an'  tells  me  to  be  sure  to  get  'em  on  tight 
enough  —  why,  bless  me  !  after  I  once  got  'em 
strapped  on,  if  them  skates  bed  come  off,  the  feet 
wud  ha'  come  with  'em  !  An'  now  away  we  go 
—  Laura  an'  me.  Around  the  bend  —  near  the 
medcler  where  Si  Barker's  dog  killed  a  wood- 
chuck  last  summer — we  meet  the  rest.  We  for 
get  all  about  the  cold.  We  run  races  an'  play 
snap-the-whip,  an'  cut  all  sorts  o'  didoes,  an'  we 


EZRA'S  THANKSGITIN'  OUT  WEST      145 

never  mind  the  pick'rel-weed  that  is  froze  in  on 
the  ice  an'  trips  us  up  every  time  we  cut  the  out 
side  edge;  an'  then  we  boys  jump  over  the  air 
holes,  an'  the  girls  stan'  by  an'  scream  an'  tell  us 
they  know  we're  a-goin'  to  drownd  ourselves.  So 
the  hours  go,  an'  it  is  sun-up  at  last,  an'  Sister 
Helen  says  we  must  be  gettin'  home.  When  we 
take  our  skates  off,  our  feet  feel  as  if  they  were 
wood.  Laura  has  lost  her  tippet;  I  lend  her 
mine,  and  she  kind  o'  blushes.  The  old  pond 
seems  glad  to  have  us  go,  and  the  fire-hangbird's 
nest  in  the  wilier-tree  waves  us  good-by.  Laura 
promises  to  come  over  to  our  house  in  the  evenin', 
and  so  we  break  up. 

"Seems  now,"  continued  Ezra,  musingly  — 
"  seems  now  as  if  I  could  see  us  all  at  breakfast. 
The  race  on  the  pond  has  made  us  hungry,  and 
Mother  says  she  never  knew  anybody  else's  boys 
that  had  such  capac'ties  as  hers.  It  is  the  Yankee 
Thanksgivin'  breakfast  —  sausages  an'  fried  pota 
toes,  an'  buckwheat  cakes  an'  syrup  — maple 
syrup,  mind  ye,  for  Father  has  his  own  sugar- 
bush,  and  there  was  a  big  run  o'  sap  last  season. 
Mother  says,  '  Ezry  an'  Amos,  won't  you  never 
get  through  eatin'  ?  We  want  to  clear  off  the 
table,  for  there's  pies  to  make,  an'  nuts  to  crack, 
and  laws  sakes  alive  !  the  turkey's  got  to  be 
stuffed  yit  ! '  Then  how  we  all  fly  round  ! 
Mother  sends  Helen  up  into  the  attic  to  get  a 
squash  while  Mary's  makin'  the  pie-crust.  Amos 


146  PROFITABLE   TALES 

an'  I  crack  the  walnuts  —  they  call  'em  hickory- 
nuts  out  in  this  pesky  country  of  sage-brush  and 
pasture-land.  The  walnuts  are  hard,  and  it's  all 
we  can  do  to  crack  'em.  Ev'ry  once  'n  a  while 
one  on  'em  slips  outer  our  fingers  an'  goes  dancin' 
over  the  floor  or  flies  into  the  pan  Helen  is 
squeezin'  pumpkin  into  through  the  col'nder. 
Helen  says  we're  shif'less  an'  good  for  nothin' 
but  frivolin' ;  but  Mother  tells  us  how  to  crack 
the  walnuts  so's  not  to  let  'em  fly  all  over  the 
room,  an'  so's  not  to  be  all  jammed  to  pieces  like 
the  walnuts  was  down  at  the  party  at  the  Peas- 
leys'  last  winter.  An'  now  here  comes  Tryphena 
Foster,  with  her  gingham  gown  an'  muslin  apron 
on ;  her  folks  have  gone  up  to  Amherst  for 
Thanksgivin',  an'  Tryphena  has  come  over  to 
help  our  folks  get  dinner.  She  thinks  a  great 
deal  o'  Mother,  'cause  Mother  teaches  her  Sun 
day-school  class  an'  says  Tryphena  oughter  marry 
a  missionary.  There  is  bustle  everywhere,  the 
rattle  uv  pans  an'  the  clatter  of  dishes ;  an'  the 
new  kitch'n  stove  begins  to  warm  up  an'  git  red, 
till  Helen  loses  her  wits  an'  is  flustered,  an'  sez  she 
never  could  git  the  hang  o'  that  stove's  dampers. 
"  An'  now,"  murmured  Ezra,  gently,  as  a  tone 
of  deeper  reverence  crept  into  his  voice,  "  I  can 
see  Father  sittin'  all  by  himself  in  the  parlor. 
Father's  hair  is  very  gray,  and  there  are  wrinkles 
on  his  honest  old  face.  He  is  lookin'  through  the 
winder  at  the  Holyoke  hills  over  yonder,  and  I 


EZRA'S  THANKSGIVIN'  OUT  WEST      147 

can  guess  he's  thinkin'  of  the  time  when  he  wuz  a 
boy  like  me  an'  Amos,  an'  useter  climb  over  them 
hills  an'  kill  rattlesnakes  an'  hunt  partridges.  Or 
doesn't  his  eyes  quite  reach  the  Holyoke  hills  ? 
Do  they  fall  kind  o'  lovingly  but  sadly  on  the 
little  buryin'-ground  jest  beyond  the  village  ? 
Ah!  Father  knows  that  spot,  an'  he  loves  it,  too, 
for  there  are  treasures  there  whose  memory  he 
wouldn't  swap  for  all  the  world  could  give.  So, 
while  there  is  a  kind  o'  mist  in  Father's  eyes,  I 
can  see  he  is  dreamin'-like  of  sweet  an'  tender 
things,  and  a-communin'  with  memory  —  hearin' 
voices  I  never  heard,  an'  feelin'  the  tech  of  hands 
I  never  pressed ;  an'  seein'  Father's  peaceful  face, 
I  find  it  hard  to  think  of  a  Thanksgivin'  sweeter 
than  Father's  is. 

"  The  pictur'  in  the  firelight  changes  now," 
said  Ezra,  "  an'  seems  as  if  I  wuz  in  the  old 
frame  meetin'-house.  The  meetin'-house  is  on 
the  hill,  and  meetin'  begins  at  half-pas'  ten.  Our 
pew  is  well  up  in  front  —  seems  as  if  I  could  see 
it  now.  It  has  a  long  red  cushion  on  the  seat, 
and  in  the  hymn-book  rack  there  is  a  Bible  an'  a 
couple  of  Pslamodies.  We  walk  up  the  aisle 
slow,  and  Mother  goes  in  first ;  then  comes 
Mary,  then  me,  then  Helen,  then  Amos,  and 
then  Father.  Father  thinks  it  is  jest  as  well  to 
have  one  o'  the  girls  set  in  between  me  an'  Amos. 
The  meetin'-house  is  full,  for  everybody  goes  to 
meetin'  Thanksgivin'  day.  The  minister  reads 


MS  PROFITABLE    TALES 

the  proclamation  an'  makes  a  prayer,  an'  then  he 
gives  out  a  psalm,  an'  we  all  stan'  up  an'  turn 
round  an'  join  the  choir.  Sam  Merritt  has  come 
up  from  Palmer  to  spend  Thanksgivin'  with  the 
ol'  folks,  an'  he  is  singin'  tenor  to-day  in  his  oP 
place  in  the  choir.  Some  folks  say  he  sings  won 
derful  well,  but  /  don't  like  Sam's  voice.  Laura 
sings  soprano  in  the  choir,  and  Sam  stands  next 
to  her  an'  holds  the  book. 

"  Seems  as  if  I  could  hear  the  minister's  voice, 
full  of  earnestness  an'  melody,  comin'  from  way 
up  in  his  little  round  pulpit.  He  is  tellin'  us  why 
we  should  be  thankful,  an',  as  he  quotes  Scriptur' 
an'  Dr.  Watts,  we  boys  wonder  how  anybody  can 
remember  so  much  of  the  Bible.  Then  I  get 
nervous  and  worried.  Seems  to  me  the  minister 
was  never  comin'  to  lastly,  and  I  find  myself 
wonderin'  whether  Laura  is  listenin'  to  what  the 
preachin'  is  about,  or  is  writin'  notes  to  Sam 
Merritt  in  the  back  of  the  tune-book.  I  get 
thirsty,  too,  and  I  fidget  about  till  Father  looks 
at  me,  and  Mother  nudges  Helen,  and  Helen 
passes  it  along  to  me  with  interest. 

"An'  then,"  continues  Ezra  in  his  revery, 
"  when  the  last  hymn  is  given  out  an'  we  stan' 
up  agin  an'  join  the  choir,  I  am  glad  to  see  that 
Laura  is  singin'  outer  the  book  with  Miss  Hub- 
bard,  the  alto.  An'  goin'  out  o'  meetin'  I  kind 
of  edge  up  to  Laura  and  ask  her  if  I  kin  have  the 
pleasure  of  seein'  her  home. 


EZRA'S  THANKSGIVIN'  OUT  WEST     149 

"  An'  now  we  boys  all  go  out  on  the  Common 
to  play  ball.  The  Enfield  boys  have  come  over, 
and,  as  all  the  Hampshire  County  folks  know,  they 
are  tough  fellers  to  beat.  Gorham  Polly  keeps 
tally,  because  he  has  got  the  newest  jack-knife  — 
oh,  how  slick  it  whittles  the  old  broom-handle 
Gorham  picked  up  in  Packard's  store  an'  brought 
along  jest  to  keep  tally  on  !  It  is  a  great  game 
of  ball ;  the  bats  are  broad  and  light,  and  the  ball 
is  small  and  soft.  But  the  Enfield  boys  beat  us 
at  last ;  leastwise  they  make  70  tallies  to  our  58, 
when  Heman  Fitts  knocks  the  ball  over  into  Aunt 
Dorcas  Eastman's  yard,  and  Aunt  Dorcas  comes 
out  an'  picks  up  the  ball  an'  takes  it  into  the 
house,  an'  we  have  to  stop  playin'.  Then  Phineas 
Owens  allows  he  can  flop  any  boy  in  Belchertown, 
an'  Moses  Baker  takes  him  up,  an'  they  wrassle 
like  two  tartars,  till  at  last  Moses  tuckers  Phineas 
out  an'  downs  him  as  slick  as  a  whistle. 

"  Then  we  all  go  home,  for  Thanksgivin' 
dinner  is  ready.  Two  long  tables  have  been 
made  into  one,  and  one  of  the  big  table-cloths 
Gran'ma  had  when  she  set  up  housekeepin'  is 
spread  over  'em  both.  We  all  set  round —  Father, 
Mother,  Aunt  Lydia  Holbrook,  Uncle  Jason, 
Mary,  Helen,  Tryphena  Foster,  Amos,  and  me. 
How  big  an'  brown  the  turkey  is,  and  how  good 
it  smells  !  There  are  bounteous  dishes  of  mashed 
potato,  turnip,  an'  squash,  and  the  celery  is  very 
white  and  cold,  the  biscuits  are  light  an'  hot,  and 


150  PROFITABLE   TALES 

the  stewed  cranberries  are  red  as  Laura's  cheeks. 
Amos  and  I  get  the  drumsticks ;  Mary  wants  the 
wishbone  to  put  over  the  door  for  Hiram,  but 
Helen  gets  it.  Poor  Mary!  she  always  ^//V/have 
to  give  up  to  '  rushin'  Helen,'  as  we  call  her.  The 
pies  —  oh,  what  pies  Mother  makes  ;  no  dyspepsia 
in  'em,  but  good-nature  an'  good  health  an'  hos 
pitality  !  Pumpkin-pies,  mince  an'  apple  too,  and 
then  a  big  dish  of  pippins  an'  russets  an'  bell- 
flowers,  an',  last  of  all,  walnuts  with  cider  from 
the  Zebrina  Dickerson  farm  !  I  tell  ye,  there's 
a  Thanksgivin'  dinner  for  ye  !  that's  what  we  get 
in  old  Belchertown ;  an'  that's  the  kind  of  livin' 
that  makes  the  Yankees  so  all-fired  good  an' 
smart. 

"  But  the  best  of  all,"  said  Ezra,  very  softly,  to 
himself — "  oh  yes,  the  best  scene  in  all  the  pic- 
tur'  is  when  evenin'  comes,  when  the  lamps  are 
lit  in  the  parlor,  when  the  neighbors  come  in,  and 
when  there  is  music  an'  singin'  an'  games.  An' 
it's  this  part  o'  the  pictur'  that  makes  me  home 
sick  now  and  fills  my  heart  with  a  longin'  I  never 
had  before ;  an'  yet  it  sort  o'  mellows  an'  comforts 
me,  too.  Miss  Serena  Cadwell,  whose  beau  was 
killed  in  the  war,  plays  on  the  melodeon,  and  we 
all  sing  —  all  on  us,  men,  womenfolks,  an'  chil 
dren.  Sam  Merritt  is  there,  an'  he  sings  a  tenor 
song  about  love.  The  women  sort  of  whisper 
round  that  he's  goin'  to  be  married  to  a  Palmer 
lady  nex'  spring,  an'  I  think  to  myself  I  never 


EZRA'S  THANKSGIVIN*  OUT  WEST     151 

heard  better  singin'  than  Sam's.  Then  we  play 
games  —  proverbs,  buzz,  clap-in-clap-out,  Copen 
hagen,  fox-an'-geese,  button-button-who's-got- 
the-button,  spin-the-platter,  go-to-Jerusalem,  my- 
ship's-come-in,  and  all  the  rest.  The  oF  folks 
play  with  the  young  folks  just  as  nat'ral  as  can 
be ;  and  we  all  laugh  when  Deacon  Hosea  Cowles 
hez  to  measure  six  yards  of  love-ribbon  with  Miss 
Hepsy  Newton,  and  cut  each  yard  with  a  kiss  ;  for 
the  deacon  hez  been  sort  o'  purrin'  round  Miss 
Hepsy  for  goin'  on  two  years.  Then,  aft'r  a 
while,  when  Mary  an'  Helen  bring  in  the  cookies, 
nut-cakes,  cider,  an'  apples,  Mother  says,  '  I 
don't  b'lieve  we're  goin'  to  hev  enough  apples  to 
go  round;  Ezry,  I  guess  I'll  have  to  get  you  to 
go  down-cellar  for  some  more.'  Then  I  says, 
4  All  right,  Mother,  I'll  go,  providin'  some  one'll 
go  along  an'  hold  the  candle.'  An'  when  I  say 
this  I  look  right  at  Laura,  an'  she  blushes.  Then 
Helen,  just  for  meanness,  says,  '  Ezry,  I  s'pose 
you  ain't  willin'  to  have  your  fav'rite  sister  go 
down-cellar  with  you  an'  catch  her  death  o'  cold?  ' 
But  Mary,  who  hez  been  showin'  Hiram  Peabody 
the  phot'graph  album  for  more'n  an  hour,  comes 
to  the  rescue  an'  makes  Laura  take  the  candle,  and 
she  shows  Laura  how  to  hold  it  so  it  won't  go  out. 
"  The  cellar  is  warm  an'  dark.  There  are  cob 
webs  all  between  the  rafters  an'  everywhere  else 
except  on  the  shelves  where  Mother  keeps  the 
butter  an'  eggs  an'  other  things  that  would  freeze 


152  PROFITABLE    TALES 

in  the  butt'ry  upstairs.  The  apples  are  in  bar'ls 
up  against  the  wall,  near  the  potater-bin.  How 
fresh  and  sweet  they  smell !  Laura  thinks  she  sees 
a  mouse,  an'  she  trembles  an'  wants  to  jump  up 
on  the  pork-bar'l,  but  I  tell  her  that  there  sha'n't 
no  mouse  hurt  her  while  I'm  round;  and  I  mean 
it,  too,  for  the  sight  of  Laura  a-tremblin'  makes 
me  as  strong  as  one  of  Father's  steers.  '  What 
kind  of  apples  do  you  like  best,  Ezry  ?  '  asks 
Laura — '  russets  or  greenin's  or  crow-eggs  or 
bellflowers  or  Baldwins  or  pippins  ?  '  'I  like 
the  Baldwins  best,'  says  I,  '  coz  they've  got  red 
cheeks  just  like  yours.'  '  Why,  Ezry  Thompson  ! 
how  you  talk  ! '  says  Laura.  '  You  oughter  be 
ashamed  of  yourself  ! '  But  when  I  get  the  dish 
filled  up  with  apples  there  ain't  a  Baldwin  in  all 
the  lot  that  can  compare  with  the  bright  red  of 
Laura's  cheeks.  An'  Laura  knows  it,  too,  an' 
she  sees  the  mouse  agin,  an'  screams,  and  then 
the  candle  goes  out,  and  we  are  in  a  dreadful 
stew.  But  I,  bein'  almost  a  man,  contrive  to 
bear  up  under  it,  and  knowin'  she  is  an  orph'n, 
I  comfort  an'  encourage  Laura  the  best  I  know 
how,  and  we  are  almost  upstairs  when  Mother 
comes  to  the  door  and  wants  to  know  what  has 
kep'  us  so  long.  Jest  as  if  Mother  doesn't  know  ! 
Of  course  she  does  ;  an'  when  Mother  kisses  Laura 
good-by  that  night  there  is  in  the  act  a  tenderness 
that  speaks  more  sweetly  than  even  Mother's 
words. 


EZRA'S  THANKSGIVIN'  OUT  WEST      153 

"  It  is  so  like  Mother,"  mused  Ezra;  "  so  like 
her  with  her  gentleness  an'  clingin'  love.  Hers 
is  the  sweetest  pictur'  of  all,  and  hers  the  best 
love." 

Dream  on,  Ezra ;  dream  of  the  old  home  with 
its  dear  ones,  its  holy  influences,  and  its  precious 
inspiration  —  Mother.  Dream  on  in  the  far-away 
firelight ;  and  as  the  angel  hand  of  memory  un 
folds  these  sacred  visions,  with  thee  and  them 
shall  abide,  like  a  divine  comforter,  the  spirit  of 
Thanksgiving. 

1885. 


LUDWIG   AND    ELOISE 


LUDWIG   AND    ELOISE 


NCE  upon  a  time  there  were  two 
youths  named  Herman  and  Ludwig; 
and  they  both  loved  Eloise,  the 
daughter  of  the  old  burgomaster. 
Now  the  old  burgomaster  was  very  rich,'  and 
having  no  child  but  Eloise,  he  was  anxious  that 
she  should  be  well  married  and  settled  in  life. 
"  For,"  said  he,  "  death  is  likely  to  come  to  me 
at  any  time ;  I  am  old  and  feeble,  and  I  want  to 
see  my  child  sheltered  by  another's  love  before  I 
am  done  with  earth  forever." 

Eloise  was  much  beloved  by  all  the  youth  in 
the  village,  and  there  was  not  one  who  would  not 
gladly  have  taken  her  to  wife ;  but  none  loved  her 
so  much  as  did  Herman  and  Ludwig.  Nor 
did  Eloise  care  for  any  but  Herman  and  Ludwig, 
and  she  loved  Herman.  The  burgomaster  said, 
"  Choose  whom  you  will  —  I  care  not  !  So  long 
as  he  be  honest  I  will  have  him  for  a  son  and 
thank  Heaven  for  him." 

So  Eloise  chose  Herman,  and  all  said  she  chose 


158  PROFITABLE   TALES 

wisely;  for  Herman  was  young  and  handsome, 
and  by  his  valor  had  won  distinction  in  the  army, 
and  had  thrice  been  complimented  by  the  general. 
So  when  the  brave  young  captain  led  Eloise  to 
the  altar  there  was  great  rejoicing  in  the  village. 
The  beaux,  forgetting  their  disappointments,  and 
the  maidens,  seeing  the  cause  of  all  their  jealousy 
removed,  made  merry  together ;  and  it  was  said 
that  never  had  there  been  in  the  history  of  the 
province  an  event  so  joyous  as  was  the  wedding 
of  Herman  and  Eloise. 

But  in  all  the  village  there  was  one  aching 
heart.  Ludwig,  the  young  musician,  saw  with 
quiet  despair  the  maiden  he  loved  go  to  the  altar 
with  another.  He  had  known  Eloise  from  child 
hood,  and  he  could  not  say  when  his  love  of  her 
began,  it  was  so  very  long  ago ;  but  now  he  knew 
his  heart  was  consumed  by  a  hopeless  passion. 
Once,  at  a  village  festival,  he  had  begun  to  speak 
to  her  of  his  love ;  but  Eloise  had  placed  her  hand 
kindly  upon  his  lips  and  told  him  to  say  no 
further,  for  they  had  always  been  and  always 
would  be  brother  and  sister.  So  Ludwig  never 
spoke  his  love  after  that,  and  Eloise  and  he  were 
as  brother  and  sister ;  but  the  love  of  her  grew 
always  within  him,  and  he  had  no  thought  but  of 
her. 

And  now,  when  Eloise  and  Herman  were  wed, 
Ludwig  feigned  that  he  had  received  a  message 
from  a  rich  relative  in  a  distant  part  of  the  king- 


LUDWIG  AND  ELOISE  159 

dom  bidding  him  come  thither,  and  Luchvig  went 
from  the  village  and  was  seen  there  no  more. 

When  the  burgomaster  died  all  his  possessions 
went  to  Herman  and  Eloise;  and  they  were 
accounted  the  richest  folk  in  the  province,  and  so 
good  and  charitable  were  they  that  they  were  be 
loved  by  all.  Meanwhile  Herman  had  risen  to 
greatness  in  the  army,  for  by  his  valorous  exploits 
he  had  become  a  general,  and  he  was  much  en 
deared  to  the  king.  And  Eloise  and  Herman 
lived  in  a  great  castle  in  the  midst  of  a  beautiful 
park,  and  the  people  came  and  paid  them  reverence 
there. 

And  no  one  in  all  these  years  spoke  of  Ludwig. 
No  one  thought  of  him.  Ludwig  was  forgotten. 
And  so  the  years  went  by. 

It  came  to  pass,  however,  that  from  a  far-distant 
province  there  spread  the  fame  of  a  musician  so 
great  that  the  king  sent  for  him  to  visit  the  court. 
No  one  knew  the  musician's  name  nor  whence  he 
came,  for  he  lived  alone  and  would  never  speak  of 
himself ;  but  his  music  was  so  tender  and  beauti 
ful  that  it  was  called  heart-music,  and  he  himself 
was  called  the  Master.  He  was  old  and  bowed 
with  infirmities,  but  his  music  was  always  of 
youth  and  love ;  it  touched  every  heart  with  its 
simplicity  and  pathos,  and  all  wondered  how  this 
old  and  broken  man  could  create  so  much  of  ten 
derness  and  sweetness  on  these  themes. 

But  when  the  king  sent  for  the  Master  to  come 


iCo  PROFITABLE   TALES 

to  court  the  Master  returned  him  answer,  "  No, 
I  am  old  and  feeble.  To  leave  my  home  would 
weary  me  unto  death.  Let  me  die  here  as  I  have 
lived  these  long  years,  weaving  my  music  for 
hearts  that  need  my  solace." 

Then  the  people  wondered.  But  the  king  was 
not  angry ;  in  pity  he  sent  the  Master  a  purse  of 
gold,  and  bade  him  come  or  not  come,  as  he 
willed.  Such  honor  had  never  before  been  shown 
any  subject  in  the  kingdom,  and  all  the  people 
were  dumb  with  amazement.  But  the  Master 
gave  the  purse  of  gold  to  the  poor  of  the  village 
wherein  he  lived. 

In  those  days  Herman  died,  full  of  honors  and 
years,  and  there  was  a  great  lamentation  in  the 
land,  for  Herman  was  beloved  by  all.  And 
Eloise  wept  unceasingly  and  would  not  be  com 
forted. 

On  the  seventh  day  after  Herman  had  been 
buried  there  came  to  the  castle  in  the  park  an  aged 
and  bowed  man  who  carried  in  his  white  and  trem 
bling  hands  a  violin.  His  kindly  face  was  deeply 
wrinkled,  and  a  venerable  beard  swept  down  upon 
his  breast.  He  was  weary  and  footsore,  but  he 
heeded  not  the  words  of  pity  bestowed  on  him  by 
all  who  beheld  him  tottering  on  his  way.  He 
knocked  boldly  at  the  castle  gate,  and  demanded 
to  be  brought  into  the  presence  of  Eloise. 

And  Eloise  said,  "  Bid  him  enter;  perchance 
his  music  will  comfort  my  breaking  heart." 


LUDWIG  AND  ELOISE  161 

Then,  when  the  old  man  had  come  into  her 
presence,  behold  !  he  was  the  Master  —  ay,  the 
Master  whose  fame  was  in  every  land,  whose 
heart-music  was  on  every  tongue. 

"  If  thou  art  indeed  the  Master,"  said  Eloise, 

"  let  thy  music  be  balm  to  my-chastened  spirit." 

The  Master  said,  "Ay,  Eloise,  I  will  comfort 

thee  in  thy  sorrow,  and  thy  heart  shall  be  stayed, 

and  a  great  joy  will  come  to  thee." 

Then  the  Master  drew  his  bow  across  the 
strings,  and  lo  !  forthwith  there  arose  such 
harmonies  as  Eloise  had  never  heard  before. 
Gently,  persuasively,  they  stole  upon  her  senses 
and  filled  her  soul  with  an  ecstasy  of  peace. 

"Is  it  Herman  that  speaks  to  me?"  cried 
Eloise.  "  It  is  his  voice  I  hear,  and  it  speaks  to 
me  of  love.  With  thy  heart-music,  O  Master,  all 
the  sweetness  of  his  life  comes  back  to  comfort 


me 


The  Master  did  not  pause;  as  he  played,  it 
seemed  as  if  each  tender  word  and  caress  of 
Herman's  life  was  stealing  back  on  music's  pin 
ions  to  soothe  the  wounds  that  death  had  made. 

"It  is  the  song  of  our  love-life,"  murmured 

Eloise.  "How  full  of  memories  it  is what 

tenderness  and  harmony — and  oh,  what  peace 
it  brings  !  But  tell  me,  Master,  what  means  this 
minor  chord  —  this  undertone  of  sadness  and  of 
pathos  that  flows  like  a  deep,  unfathomable  cur 
rent  throughout  it  all,  and,  wailing,  weaves  itself 


162  PROFITABLE   TALES 

about  thy  theme  of  love  and  happiness  with  its 
weird  and  subtile  influences  ?  " 

Then  the  Master  said,  "  It  is  that  shade  of  sor 
row  and  sacrifice,  O  Eloise,  that  ever  makes  the 
picture  of  love  more  glorious.  An  undertone  of 
pathos  has  been  my  part  in  all  these  years  to 
symmetrize  the  love  of  Herman  and  Eloise.  The 
song  of  thy  love  is  beautiful,  and  who  shall  say  it 
is  not  beautified  by  the  sad  undertone  of  Ludwig's 
broken  heart  ?  " 

"  Thou  art  Ludwig  !  "  cried  Eloise.  "  Thou 
art  Ludwig,  who  didst  love  me,  and  hast  come  to 
comfort  me  who  loved  thee  not  ! " 

The  Master  indeed  was  Ludwig ;  but  when  they 
hastened  to  do  him  homage  he  heard  them  not, 
for  with  that  last  and  sweetest  heart-song  his  head 
sank  upon  his  breast,  and  he  was  dead. 

1885. 


FIDO'S   LITTLE    FRIEND 


FIDO'S   LITTLE    FRIEND 


NE  morning  in  May  Fido  sat  on  the 
front  porch,  and  he  was  deep  in 
thought.  He  was  wondering  whether 
the  people  who  were  moving  into  the 
next  house  were  as  cross  and  unfeeling  as  the 
people  who  had  just  moved  out.  He  hoped  they 
were  not,  for  the  people  who  had  just  moved  out 
had  never  treated  Fido  with  that  respect  and  kind 
ness  which  Fido  believed  he  was  on  all  occasions 
entitled  to. 

"The  new-comers  must  be  nice  folks,"  said 
Fido  to  himself,  "  for  their  feather-beds  look  big 
and  comfortable,  and  their  baskets  are  all  ample 
and  generous  —  and  see,  there  goes  a  bright  gilt 
cage,  and  there  is  a  plump  yellow  canary-bird  in 
it  !  Oh,  how  glad  Mrs.  Tabby  will  be  to  see  it 
—  she  so  dotes  on  dear  little  canary-birds  !  " 

Mrs.  Tabby  was  the  old  brindled  cat,  who  was 
the  mother  of  the  four  cunning  little  kittens  in  the 
hay-mow.  Fido  had  heard  her  remark  very  pur- 


166  PROFITABLE   TALES 

ringly  only  a  few  days  ago  that  she  longed  for  a 
canary-bird,  just  to  amuse  her  little  ones  and  give 
them  correct  musical  ears.  Honest  old  Fido  ! 
There  was  no  guile  in  his  heart,  and  he  never 
dreamed  there  was  in  all  the  wide  world  such  a 
sin  as  hypocrisy.  So  when  Fido  saw  the  little 
canary-bird  in  the  cage  he  was  glad  for  Mrs. 
Tabby's  sake. 

While  Fido  sat  on  the  front  porch  and  watched 
the  people  moving  into  the  next  house,  another 
pair  of  eyes  peeped  out  of  the  old  hollow  maple 
over  the  way.  This  was  the  red-headed  wood 
pecker,  who  had  a  warm,  cosey  nest  far  down  in 
the  old  hollow  maple,  and  in  the  nest  there  were 
four  beautiful  eggs,  of  which  the  red-headed  wood 
pecker  was  very  proud. 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Fido,"  called  the  red 
headed  woodpecker  from  her  high  perch.  "  You 
are  out  bright  and  early  to-day.  And  what  do  you 
think  of  our  new  neighbors  ?  " 

"  Upon  my  word,  I  cannot  tell,"  replied  Fido, 
wagging  his  tail  cheerily,  "for  I  am  not  ac 
quainted  with  them.  But  I  have  been  watching 
them  closely,  and  by  to-day  noon  I  think  I  shall 
be  on  speaking  terms  with  them  —  provided,  of 
course,  they  are  not  the  cross,  unkind  people  our 
old  neighbors  were." 

"  Oh,  I  do  so  hope  there  are  no  little  boys  in 
the  family,"  sighed  the  red-headed  woodpecker; 
and  then  she  added,  with  much  determination  and 


FIDO'S  LITTLE  FRIEND  167 

a  defiant  toss  of  her  beautiful  head,  "  I  hate  little 
boys!" 

"  Why  so  ?  "  inquired  Fido.  "  As  for  myself, 
I  love  little  boys.  I  have  always  found  them  the 
pleasantest  of  companions.  Why  do  you  dislike 
them  ?  " 

"  Because  they  are  wicked,"  said  the  red-headed 
woodpecker.  "  They  climb  trees  and  break  up 
the  nests  we  have  worked  so  hard  to  build,  and 
they  steal  away  our  lovely  eggs  —  oh,  I  hate  little 
boys!  " 

"  Good  little  boys  don't  steal  birds'  eggs,"  said 
Fido,  "  and  I  am  sure  I  never  would  play  with  a 
bad  boy." 

But  the  red-headed  woodpecker  insisted  that  all 
little  boys  were  wicked;  and,  firm  in  this  faith, 
she  flew  away  to  the  linden  over  yonder,  where, 
she  had  heard  the  thrush  say,  there  lived  a  family 
of  fat  white  grubs.  The  red-headed  woodpecker 
wanted  her  breakfast,  and  it  would  have  been 
hard  to  find  a  more  palatable  morsel  for  her  than 
a  white  fat  grub. 

As  for  Fido,  he  sat  on  the  front  porch  and 
watched  the  people  moving  in.  And  as  he 
watched  them  he  thought  of  what  the  red-headed 
woodpecker  had  said,  and  he  wondered  whether  it 
could  be  possible  for  little  boys  to  be  so  cruel  as 
to  rob  birds'  nests.  As  he  brooded  over  this  sad 
possibility,  his  train  of  thought  was  interrupted  by 
the  sound  of  a  voice  that  fell  pleasantly  on  his  ears. 


168  PROFITABLE   TALES 

"Goggie,  goggie,  goggle!"  said  the  voice. 
"  Turn  here,  'ittle  goggie  —  turn  here,  goggie, 
goggie,  goggie  ! " 

Fido  looked  whence  the  voice  seemed  to  come, 
and  he  saw  a  tiny  figure  on  the  other  side  of  the 
fence  —  a  cunning  baby  figure  in  the  yard  that 
belonged  to  the  house  where  the  new  neighbors 
were  moving  in.  A  second  glance  assured  Fido 
that  the  calling  stranger  was  a  little  boy  not  more 
than  three  years  old,  wearing  a  pretty  dress,  and 
a  broad  hat  that  crowned  his  yellow  hair  and 
shaded  his  big  blue  eyes  and  dimpled  face.  The 
sight  was  a  pleasing  one,  and  Fido  vibrated  his 
tail  —  very  cautiously,  however,  for  Fido  was  not 
quite  certain  that  the  little  boy  meant  his  greeting 
for  him,  and  Fido's  sad  experiences  with  the  old 
neighbors  had  made  him  wary  about  scraping  ac 
quaintances  too  hastily. 

"  Turn,  'ittle  goggie  !"  persisted  the  prattling 
stranger,  and,  as  if  to  encourage  Fido,  the  little 
boy  stretched  his  chubby  arms  through  the  fence 
and  waved  them  entreatingly. 

Fido  was  convinced  now ;  so  he  got  up,  and, 
with  many  cordial  gestures  of  his  hospitable  tail, 
trotted  down  the  steps  and  over  the  lawn  to  the 
corner  of  the  fence  where  the  little  stranger  was. 

"  Me  love  oo,"  said  the  little  stranger,  patting 
Fido's  honest  brown  back;  "me  love  oo,  'ittle 
goggie." 

Fido  knew  that,   for  there   were  caresses   in 


FIDO'S  LITTLE  FRIEND  169 

every  stroke  of  the  dimpled  hands.  Fido  loved 
the  little  boy,  too  —  yes,  all  at  once  he  loved  the 
little  boy ;  and  he  licked  the  dimpled  hands,  and 
gave  three  short,  quick  barks,  and  wagged  his 
tail  hysterically.  So  then  and  there  began  the 
friendship  of  Fido  and  the  little  boy. 

Presently  Fido  crawled  under  the  fence  into  the 
next  yard,  and  then  the  little  boy  sat  down  on  the 
grass,  and  Fido  put  his  fore  paws  in  the  little  boy's 
lap  and  cocked  up  his  ears  and  looked  up  into  the 
little  boy's  face,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  We  shall  be 
great  friends,  shall  we  not,  little  boy  ?  " 

"  Me  love  oo,"  said  the  little  boy;  "  me  wan' 
to  tiss  oo,  'ittle  goggie  ! " 

And  the  little  boy  did  kiss  Fido  —  yes,  right  on 
Fido's  cold  nose ;  and  Fido  liked  to  have  the  little 
boy  kiss  him,  for  it  reminded  him  of  another  little 
boy  who  used  to  kiss  him,  but  who  was  now  so 
big  that  he  was  almost  ashamed  to  play  with  Fido 
any  more. 

"  Is  oo  sit,  'ittle  goggie  ?  "  asked  the  little  boy, 
opening  his  blue  eyes  to  their  utmost  capacity 
and  looking  very  piteous.  "  Oo  nose  be  so  told, 
oo  mus'  be  sit,  'ittle  goggie  ! " 

But  no,  Fido  was  not  sick,  even  though  his 
nose  was  cold.  Oh  no ;  he  romped  and  played 
all  that  morning  in  the  cool  green  grass  with  the 
little  boy ;  and  the  red-headed  woodpecker,  cling 
ing  to  the  bark  on  the  hickory-tree,  laughed  at 
their  merry  antics  till  her  sides  ached  and  her 


170  PROFITABLE   TALES 

beautiful  head  turned  fairly  livid.  Then,  at  last, 
the  little  boy's  mamma  came  out  of  the  house  and 
told  him  he  had  played  long  enough ;  and  neither 
the  red-headed  woodpecker  nor  Fido  saw  him 
again  that  day. 

But  the  next  morning  the  little  boy  toddled 
down  to  the  fence-corner,  bright  and  early,  and 
called  "  Goggie,  goggie,  goggie  !  "  so  loudly 
that  Fido  heard  him  in  the  woodshed,  where  he 
was  holding  a  morning  chat  with  Mrs.  Tabby. 
Fido  hastened  to  answer  the  call;  the  way  he 
spun  out  of  the  woodshed  and  down  the  gravel 
walk  and  around  the  corner  of  the  house  was  a 
marvel. 

"  Mamma  says  oo  dot  f'eas,  'ittle  goggie,"  said 
the  little  boy.  "  Has  oo  dot  f'eas  ?  " 

Fido  looked  crestfallen,  for  could  Fido  have 
spoken  he  would  have  confessed  that  he  indeed  was 
afflicted  with  fleas  —  not  with  very  many  fleas,  but 
just  enough  to  interrupt  his  slumbers  and  his 
meditations  at  the  most  inopportune  moments. 
And  the  little  boy's  guileless  impeachment  set 
Fido  to  feeling  creepy-crawly  all  of  a  sudden,  and 
without  any  further  ado  Fido  turned  deftly  in  his 
tracks,  twisted  his  head  back  toward  his  tail,  and 
by  means  of  several  well-directed  bites  and  plunges 
gave  the  malicious  Bedouins  thereabouts  located 
timely  warning  to  behave  themselves.  The  little 
boy  thought  this  performance  very  funny,  and  he 
laughed  heartily.  But  Fido  looked  crestfallen. 


FIDO'S  LITTLE  FRIEND  171 

Oh,  what  play  and  happiness  they  had  that  day ; 
how  the  green  grass  kissed  their  feet,  and  how  the 
smell  of  clover  came  with  the  springtime  breezes 
from  the  meadow  yonder  !  The  red-headed  wood 
pecker  heard  them  at  play,  and  she  clambered  out 
of  the  hollow  maple  and  dodged  hither  and  thither 
as  if  she,  too,  shared  their  merriment.  Yes,  and 
the  yellow  thistle-bird,  whose  nest  was  in  the 
blooming  lilac-bush,  came  and  perched  in  the 
pear-tree  and  sang  a  little  song  about  the  dear 
little  eggs  in  her  cunning  home.  And  there  was 
a  flower  in  the  fence-corner  —  a  sweet,  modest 
flower  that  no  human  eyes  but  the  little  boy's  had 
ever  seen  —  and  she  sang  a  little  song,  too,  a  song 
about  the  kind  old  mother  earth  and  the  pretty 
sunbeams,  the  gentle  rain  and  the  droning  bees. 
Why,  the  little  boy  had  never  known  anything  half 
so  beautiful,  and  Fido  —  he,  too,  was  delighted 
beyond  all  telling.  If  the  whole  truth  must  be 
told,  Fido  had  such  an  exciting  and  bewildering 
romp  that  day  that  when  night  came,  and  he  lay 
asleep  on  the  kitchen  floor,  he  dreamed  he  was 
tumbling  in  the  green  grass  with  the  little  boy,  and 
he  tossed  and  barked  and  whined  so  in  his  sleep 
that  the  hired  man  had  to  get  up  in  the  night  and 
put  him  out  of  doors. 

Down  in  the  pasture  at  the  end  of  the  lane 
lived  an  old  woodchuck.  Last  year  the  freshet 
had  driven  him  from  his  childhood's  home  in  the 
corn-field  by  the  brook,  and  now  he  resided  in  a 


172  PROFITABLE   TALES 

snug  hole  in  the  pasture.  During  their  rambles 
one  day,  Fido  and  his  little  boy  friend  had  come 
to  the  pasture,  and  found  the  old  woodchuck  sit 
ting  upright  at  the  entrance  to  his  hole. 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  going  to  hurt  you,  old  Mr. 
Woodchuck,"  said  Fido.  "  I  have  too  much  re 
spect  for  your  gray  hairs." 

"  Thank  you,"  replied  the  woodchuck,  sarcas 
tically,  "  but  I'm  not  afraid  of  any  bench-legged 
fyst  that  ever  walked.  It  was  only  last  week 
that  I  whipped  Deacon  Skinner's  yellow  mastiff, 
and  I  calc'late  I  can  trounce  you,  you  ridiculous 
little  brown  cur  !" 

The  little  boy  did  not  hear  this  badinage. 
When  he  saw  the  woodchuck  solemnly  perched  at 
the  entrance  to  his  hole  he  was  simply  delighted. 
"  Oh,  see  !"  cried  the  little  boy,  stretching  out 
his  fat  arms  and  running  toward  the  woodchuck 
— "  oh,  see  — nuzzer  'ittle  goggie  !  Turn  here, 
'ittle  goggie  —  me  love  oo  !" 

But  the  old  woodchuck  was  a  shy  creature,  and 
not  knowing  what  guile  the  little  boy's  cordial 
greeting  might  mask,  the  old  woodchuck  dis 
creetly  disappeared  in  his  hole,  much  to  the  little 
boy's  amazement. 

Nevertheless  the  old  woodchuck,  the  little 
boy,  and  Fido  became  fast  friends  in  time,  and 
almost  every  day  they  visited  together  in  the  pas 
ture.  The  old  woodchuck  — hoary  and  scarred 
veteran  that  he  was  —  had  wonderful  stories  to 


FIDO'S  LITTLE  FRIEND  173 

tell  —  stories  of  marvellous  adventures,  of  narrow 
escapes,  of  battles  with  cruel  dogs,  and  of  thrill 
ing  experiences  that  were  altogether  new  to  his 
wondering  listeners.  Meanwhile  the  red-headed 
woodpecker's  eggs  in  the  hollow  maple  had 
hatched,  and  the  proud  mother  had  great  tales  to 
tell  of  her  baby  birds  —  of  how  beautiful  and 
knowing  they  were,  and  of  what  good,  noble  birds 
they  were  going  to  be  when  they  grew  up.  The 
yellowbird,  too,  had  four  fuzzy  little  babies  in  her 
nest  in  the  lilac-bush,  and  every  now  and  then 
she  came  to  sing  to  the  little  boy  and  Fido  of  her 
darlings.  Then,  when  the  little  boy  and  Fido 
were  tired  with  play,  they  would  sit  in  the  rowen 
near  the  fence-corner  and  hear  the  flower  tell  a 
story  the  dew  had  brought  fresh  from  the  stars 
the  night  before.  They  all  loved  one  another  — 
the  little  boy,  Fido,  the  old  woodchuck,  the  red 
headed  woodpecker,  the  yellowbird,  and  the 
flower — yes,  all  through  the  days  of  spring  and 
all  through  the  summertime  they  loved  one 
another  in  their  own  honest,  sweet,  simple  way. 
But  one  morning  Fido  sat  on  the  front  porch 
and  wondered  why  the  little  boy  had  not  come  to 
the  fence-corner  and  called  to  him.  The  sun  was 
high,  the  men  had  been  long  gone  to  the  harvest- 
fields,  and  the  heat  of  the  early  autumn  day  had 
driven  the  birds  to  the  thickest  foliage  of  the 
trees.  Fido  could  not  understand  why  the  little 
boy  did  not  come ;  he  felt,  oh  !  so  lonesome,  and 


174  PROFITABLE   TALES 

he  yearned  for  the  sound  of  a  little  voice  calling 
"Goggie,  goggie,  goggie!" 

The  red-headed  woodpecker  could  not  explain  it, 
nor  could  the  yellowbird.  Fido  trotted  leisurely 
down  to  the  fence-corner  and  asked  the  flower  if 
she  had  seen  the  little  boy  that  morning.  But 
no,  the  flower  had  not  laid  eyes  on  the  little  boy, 
and  she  could  only  shake  her  head  doubtfully 
when  Fido  asked  her  what  it  all  meant.  At  last 
in  desperation  Fido  braced  himself  for  an  heroic 
solution  of  the  mystery,  and  as  loudly  as  ever  he 
could  he  barked  three  times  —  in  the  hope,  you 
know,  that  the  little  boy  would  hear  his  call  and 
come.  But  the  little  boy  did  not  come. 

Then  Fido  trotted  sadly  down  the  lane  to  the 
pasture  to  talk  with  the  old  woodchuck  about  this 
strange  thing.  The  old  woodchuck  saw  him 
coming  and  ambled  out  to  meet  him. 

"  But  where  is  our  little  boy  ?  "  asked  the  old 
woodchuck. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Fido.  "  I  waited  for 
him  and  called  to  him  again  and  again,  but  he 
never  came." 

Ah,  those  were  sorry  days  for  the  little  boy's 
friends,  and  sorriest  for  Fido.  Poor,  honest 
Fido,  how  lonesome  he  was  and  how  he  moped 
about  !  How  each  sudden  sound,  how  each 
footfall,  startled  him  !  How  he  sat  all  those 
days  upon  the  front  door-stoop,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  fence-corner  and  his  rough  brown 


FIDO'S  LITTLE  FRIEND  175 

ears  cocked  up  as  if  he  expected  each  moment  to 
see  two  chubby  arms  stretched  out  toward  him 
and  to  hear  a  baby  voice  calling  "  Goggie,  goggie, 
goggie!" 

Once  only  they  saw  him  —  Fido,  the  flower, 
and  the  others.  It  was  one  day  when  Fido  had 
called  louder  than  usual.  They  saw  a  little  figure 
in  a  night-dress  come  to  an  upper  window  and 
lean  his  arms  out.  They  saw  it  was  the  little 
boy,  and  oh,  how  pale  and  ill  he  looked!  But 
his  yellow  hair  was  as  glorious  as  ever,  and  the 
dimples  came  back  with  the  smile  that  lighted  his 
thin  little  face  when  he  saw  Fido ;  and  he  leaned 
on  the  window  casement  and  waved  his  baby 
hands  feebly,  and  cried  "  Goggie,  goggie  !"  till 
Fido  saw  the  little  boy's  mother  come  and  take 
him  from  the  window. 

One  morning  Fido  came  to  the  fence-corner  — 
how  very  lonely  that  spot  seemed  now!  — and  he 
talked  with  the  flower  and  the  woodpecker ;  and 
the  yellowbird  came  too,  and  they  all  talked  of 
the  little  boy.  And  at  that  very  moment  the  old 
woodchuck  reared  his  hoary  head  by  the  hole  in 
the  pasture,  and  he  looked  this  way  and  that,  and 
wondered  why  the  little  boy  never  came  any 
more. 

"Suppose,"  said  Fido  to  the  yellowbird  — 
"  suppose  you  fly  to  the  window  way  up  there 
and  see  what  the  little  boy  is  doing.  Sing  him 
one  of  your  pretty  songs,  and  tell  him  we  are 


1 76  PROFITABLE   TALES 

lonesome  without  him ;  that  we  are  waiting  for 
him  in  the  old  fence-corner." 

Then  the  yellowbird  did  as  Fido  asked  —  she 
flew  to  the  window  where  they  had  once  seen  the 
little  boy,  and  alighting  upon  the  sill,  she  peered 
into  the  room.  In  another  moment  she  was  back 
on  the  bush  at  Fido's  side. 

"  He  is  asleep,"  said  the  yellowbird. 

"  Asleep!"  cried  Fido. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  yellowbird,  "  he  is  fast  asleep. 
I  think  he  must  be  dreaming  a  beautiful  dream, 
for  I  could  see  a  smile  on  his  face,  and  his  little 
hands  were  folded  on  his  bosom.  There  were 
flowers  all  about  him,  and  but  for  their  sweet 
voices  the  chamber  would  have  been  very  still." 

"  Come,  let  us  wake  him,"  said  Fido;  "  let  us 
all  call  to  him  at  once.  Then  perhaps  he  will 
hear  us  and  awaken  and  answer ;  perhaps  he  will 
come." 

So  they  all  called  in  chorus  —  Fido  and  the 
other  honest  friends.  They  called  so  loudly  that 
the  still  air  of  that  autumn  morning  was  strangely 
startled,  and  the  old  woodchuck  in  the  pasture 
way  off  yonder  heard  the  echoes  and  wondered. 

"Little  boy!  little  boy!"  they  called,  "why 
are  you  sleeping  ?  Why  are  you  sleeping,  little 
boy  ?  " 

Call  on,  dear  voices!  but  the  little  boy  will 
never  hear.  The  dimpled  hands  that  caressed 
you  are  indeed  folded  upon  his  breast;  the  lips 


FIDO'S  LITTLE  FRIEND  I77 

that  kissed  your  honest  faces  are  sealed ;  the  baby 
voice  that  sang  your  playtime  songs  with  you  is 
hushed,  and  all  about  him  is  the  fragrance  and 
the  beauty  of  flowers.  Call  on,  O  honest  friends ! 
but  he  shall  never  hear  your  calling;  for,  as  if  he 
were  aweary  of  the  love  and  play  and  sunshine 
that  were  all  he  knew  of  earth,  our  darling  is 
asleep  forever. 

1885. 


THE    OLD    MAN 


THE    OLD    MAN 


CALLED  him  the  Old  Man,  but  he 
wuzn't  an  old  man;  he  wuz  a  little 
boy  — our  fust  one;  'nd  his  gran'ma, 
who'd  had  a  heap  of  experience  in  sich 
matters,  allowed  that  he  wuz  for  looks  as  likely 
a  child  as  she'd  ever  clapped  eyes  on.  Bein'  our 
fust,  we  sot  our  hearts  on  him,  and  Lizzie  named 
him  Willie,  for  that  wuz  the  name  she  liked  best, 
havin'  had  a  brother  Willyum  killed  in  the  war. 
But  I  never  called  him  anything  but  the  Old  Man, 
and  that  name  seemed  to  fit  him,  for  he  wuz  one  of 
your  sollum  babies  —  alwuz  thinkin'  'nd  thinkin' 
'nd  thinkin',  like  he  wuz  a  jedge ;  and  when  he 
laffed  it  wuzn't  like  other  children's  laffs,  it  wuz 
so  s ad-like. 

Lizzie  'nd  I  made  it  up  between  us  that  when 
the  Old  Man  growed  up  we'd  send  him  to  collige 
'nd  give  him  a  lib'ril  edication,  no  matter  though 
we  had  to  sell  the  farm  to  do  it.  But  we  never 
cud  exactly  agree  as  to  what  we  was  goin'  to  make 


i82  PROFITABLE    TALES 

of  him ;  Lizzie  havin'  her  heart  sot  on  his  bein'  a 
preacher,  like  his  gran'pa  Baker,  and  I  wantin' 
him  to  be  a  lawyer  'nd  git  rich  out'n  the  corpora 
tions,  like  his  uncle  Wilson  Barlow.  So  we  never 
come  to  no  definite  conclusion  as  to  what  the  Old 
Man  wuz  goin'  to  be  bime  by ;  but  while  we  wuz 
thinkin'  'nd  debatin'  the  Old  Man  kep'  growin' 
'nd  growin',  and  all  the  time  he  wuz  as  serious 
'nd  sollum  as  a  jedge. 

Lizzie  got  jest  wrapt  up  in  that  boy ;  toted  him 
round  ever'where  'nd  never  let  on  like  it  made 
her  tired — powerful  big  'nd  hearty  child,  too, 
but  heft  warn't  nothin'  'longside  of  Lizzie's  love 
for  the  Old  Man.  When  he  caught  the  measles 
from  Sairy  Baxter's  baby,  Lizzie  sot  up  day  'nd 
night  till  he  wuz  well,  holdin'  his  hands  'nd 
singin'  songs  to  him,  'nd  cryin'  herse'f  almost  to 
death  because  she  dassent  give  him  cold  water  to 
drink  when  he  called  f 'r  it.  As  for  me,  my  heart 
wuz  wrapt  up  in  the  Old  Man  too,  but,  bein'  a 
man,  it  wuzn't  for  me  to  show  it  like  Lizzie, 
bein'  a  woman ;  and  now  that  the  Old  Man  is  — 
wall,  now  that  he  has  gone,  it  wouldn't  do  to  let 
on  how  much  I  sot  by  him,  for  that  would  make 
Lizzie  feel  all  the  wuss. 

Sometimes  when  I  think  of  it,  it  makes  me 
sorry  that  I  didn't  show  the  Old  Man  someway 
how  much  I  wuz  wrapt  up  in  him.  Used  to  hold 
him  in  my  lap  'nd  make  faces  for  him  'nd  alder- 
whistles  'nd  things ;  sometimes  I'd  kiss  him  on 


THE   OLD  MAN  183 

his  rosy  cheek,  when  nobody  wuz  lookin' ;  oncet 
I  tried  to  sing  him  a  song,  but  it  made  him  cry, 
'nd  I  never  tried  my  hand  at  singin'  again.  But, 
somehow,  the  Old  Man  didn't  take  to  me  like  he 
took  to  his  mother :  would  climb  down  outern  my 
lap  to  git  where  Lizzie  wuz ;  would  hang  on  to 
her  gownd,  no  matter  what  she  wuz  doin'  — 
whether  she  was  makin'  bread,  or  sewin',  or 
puttin'  up  pickles,  it  wuz  alwuz  the  same  to  the 
Old  Man ;  he  wuzn't  happy  unless  he  wuz  right 
there,  clost  beside  his  mother. 

Most  all  boys,  as  I've  heern  tell,  is  proud  to 
be  round  with  their  father,  doin'  what  he  does  'nd 
wearin'  the  kind  of  clothes  he  wears.  But  the 
Old  Man  wuz  diff'rent;  he  allowed  that  his 
mother  wuz  his  best  friend,  'nd  the  way  he  stuck 
to  her  —  wall,  it  has  alwuz  been  a  great  comfort 
to  Lizzie  to  recollect  it. 

The  Old  Man  had  a  kind  of  confidin'  way  with 
his  mother.  Every  oncet  in  a  while,  when  he'd 
be  playin'  by  hisself  in  the  front  room,  he'd  call 
out,  "  Mudder,  mudder!"  and  no  matter  where 
Lizzie  wuz  —  in  the  kitchen,  or  in  the  wood 
shed,  or  in  the  yard — she'd  answer,  "  What  is  it, 
darlin'  ?"  Then  the  Old  Man  'ud  say,  "Turn 
here,  mudder ;  I  wanter  tell  you  sumfin'."  Never 
could  find  out  what  the  Old  Man  wanted  to  tell 
Lizzie ;  like's  not  he  didn't  wanter  tell  her 
nothin' ;  maybe  he  wuz  lonesome  'nd  jest  wanted 
to  feel  that  Lizzie  wuz  round.  But  that  didn't 


PROFITABLE   TALES 


make  no  diff'rence ;  it  wuz  all  the  same  to  Lizzie. 
No  matter  where  she  wuz  or  what  she  wuz  a-doin', 
jest  as  soon  as  the  Old  Man  told  her  he  wanted 
to  tell  her  somethin'  she  dropped  ever'thing  else 
'nd  went  straight  to  him.  Then  the  Old  Man 
would  laff  one  of  his  sollum,  sad-like  laffs,  'nd 

put  his  arms  round  Lizzie's  neck  'nd  whisper 

or  pertend  to  whisper  —  somethin'  in  her  ear,  'nd 
Lizzie  would  laff  'nd  say,  "  Oh,  what  a  nice  secret 
we  have  atween  us ! "  and  then  she  would  kiss  the 
Old  Man  'nd  go  back  to  her  work. 

Time  changes  all  things  —  all  things  but  mem 
ory  ;  nothin'  can  change  that.  Seems  like  it  wuz 
only  yesterday  or  the  day  before  that  I  heern  the 
Old  Man  callin',  "  Mudder,  mudder,  I  wanter  tell 
you  sumfin',''  and  that  I  seen  him  put  his  arms 
around  her  neck  'nd  whisper  softly  to  her. 

It  had  been  an  open  winter,  'nd  there  wuz  fever 
all  around  us.  The  Baxters  lost  their  little  girl, 
and  Homer  Thompson's  children  had  all  been 
taken  down.  Ev'ry  night  'nd  mornin'  we  prayed 
God  to  save  our  darlin' ;  but  one  evenin'  when  I 
come  up  from  the  wood-lot,  the  Old  Man  wuz 
restless  'nd  his  face  wuz  hot  'nd  he  talked  in  his 
sleep.  Maybe  you've  been  through  it  yourself 
— maybe  you've  tended  a  child  that's  down  with 
the  fever ;  if  so,  maybe  you  know  what  we  went 
through,  Lizzie  'nd  me.  The  doctor  shook  his 
head  one  night  when  he  come  to  see  the  Old  Man  ; 
we  knew  what  that  meant.  I  went  outdoors I 


THE   OLD  MAN  185 

couldn't  stand  it  in  the  room  there,  with  the  Old 
Man  seein'  'nd  talkin'  about  things  that  the  fever 
made  him  see.  I  wuz  too  big  a  coward  to  stay  'nd 
help  his  mother  to  bear  up ;  so  I  went  outdoors 
'nd  brung  in  wood — brung  in  wood  enough  to 
last  all  spring  —  and  then  I  sat  down  alone 
by  the  kitchen  fire  'nd  heard  the  clock  tick 
'nd  watched  the  shadders  flicker  through  the 
room. 

I  remember  Lizzie's  comin'  to  me  and  sayin', 
"  He's  breathin'  strange-like,  'nd  his  little  feet  is 
cold  as  ice."  Then  I  went  into  the  front  chamber 
where  he  lay.  The  day  wuz  breakin' ;  the  cattle 
wuz  lovvin'  outside ;  a  beam  of  light  come  through 
the  winder  and  fell  on  the  Old  Man's  face — per 
haps  it  wuz  the  summons  for  which  he  waited 
and  which  shall  sometime  come  to  me  'nd  you. 
Leastwise  the  Old  Man  roused  from  his  sleep  'nd 
opened  up  his  big  blue  eyes.  It  wuzn't  me  he 
wanted  to  see. 

"  Mudder!  mudder!"  cried  the  Old  Man,  but 
his  voice  warn't  strong  'nd  clear  like  it  used  to 
be.  "  Mudder,  where  be  you,  mudder  ?  " 

Then,  breshin'  by  me,  Lizzie  caught  the  Old 
Man  up  'nd  held  him  in  her  arms,  like  she  had 
done  a  thousand  times  before. 

"  What  is  it,  darlin'  ?  Here  I  be,"  says 
Lizzie. 

"  Turn  here,"  says  the  Old  Man — "  turn  here  ; 
I  wanter  tell  you  sumfin'." 


186  PROFITABLE    TALES 

The  Old  Man  went  to  reach  his  arms  around 
her  neck  'nd  whisper  in  her  ear.  But  his  arms 
fell  limp  and  helpless-like,  'nd  the  Old  Man's 
curly  head  drooped  on  his  mother's  breast. 


BILL,  THE    LOKIL    EDITOR 


BILL,  THE    LOKIL    EDITOR 


ILL  wuz  alluz  fond  uv  children  'nd 
birds  'nd  flowers.  Ain't  it  kind  o' 
curious  how  sometimes  we  find  a 
great,  big,  awkward  man  who  loves 
sech  things  ?  Bill  had  the  biggest  feet  in  the 
township,  but  I'll  bet  my  wallet  that  he  never 
trod  on  a  violet  in  all  his  life.  Bill  never  took 
no  slack  from  enny  man  that  wuz  sober,  but  the 
children  made  him  play  with  'em,  and  he'd  set 
for  hours  a-watchin'  the  yallerhammer  buildin' 
her  nest  in  the  old  cottonwood. 

Now  I  ain't  defendin'  Bill;  I'm  jest  tellin'  the 
truth  about  him.  Nothink  I  kin  say  one  way  or 
t'other  is  goin'  to  make  enny  difference  now ; 
Bill's  dead  'nd  buried,  'nd  the  folks  is  discussin' 
him  'nd  wond'rin'  whether  his  immortal  soul  is 
all  right.  Sometimes  I  hev  worried  'bout  Bill, 
but  I  don't  worry  'bout  him  no  more.  Uv  course 
Bill  had  his  faults  —  I  never  liked  that  drinkin' 
business  uv  his'n,  yet  I  allow  that  Bill  got  more 


igo  PROFITABLE    TALES 

good  out'n  likker,  and  likker  got  more  good  out'n 
Bill,  than  I  ever  see  before  or  sence.  It  warn't 
when  the  likker  wuz  in  Bill  that  Bill  wuz  at  his 
best,  but  when  he  hed  been  on  to  one  uv  his  bats 
'nd  had  drunk  himself  sick  'nd  wuz  comin'  out  uv 
the  other  end  of  the  bat,  then  Bill  wuz  one  uv  the 
meekest  'nd  properest  critters  you  ever  seen.  An' 
potry?  Some  uv  the  most  beautiful  potry  I  ever 
read  wuz  writ  by  Bill  when  he  wuz  recoverin'  him 
self  out'n  one  uv  them  bats.  Seemed  like  it  kind 
uv  exalted  an'  purified  Bill's  nachur  to  git  drunk 
an'  git  over  it.  Bill  cud  drink  more  likker  'nd  be 
sorrier  for  it  than  any  other  man  in  seven  States. 
There  never  wuz  a  more  penitent  feller  than  he 
wuz  when  he  wuz  soberin'.  The  trubble  with 
Bill  seemed  to  be  that  his  conscience  didn't  come 
on  watch  quite  of'n  enuff. 

It'll  be  ten  years  come  nex'  spring  sence  Bill 
showed  up  here.  I  don't  know  whar  he  come 
from;  seemed  like  he  didn't  want  to  talk  about 
his  past.  I  allers  suspicioned  that  he  had  seen 
trubble — maybe  sorrer.  I  reecollect  that  one 
time  he  got  a  telegraph  —  Mr.  Ivins  told  me  'bout 
it  afterward — and  when  he  read  it  he  put  his 
hands  up  to  his  face  'nd  groaned  like.  That  day 
he  got  full  uv  likker,  'nd  he  kep'  full  of  likker 
for  a  week ;  but  when  he  come  round  all  right  he 
wrote  a  pome  for  the  paper,  'nd  the  name  of  the 
pome  wuz  "  Mary,"  but  whether  Mary  wuz  his 
sister  or  his  wife  or  an  old  sweetheart  uv  his'n  I 


BILL,  THE  LOKIL  EDITOR  191 

never  knew.  But  it  looked  from  the  pome  like 
she  wuz  dead  'nd  that  he  loved  her. 

Bill  wuz  the  best  lokil  the  paper  ever  had. 
He  didn't  hustle  around  much,  but  he  had  a  kind 
er  pleasin'  way  uv  dishin'  things  up.  He  cud  be 
mighty  comical  when  he  sot  out  to  be,  but  his 
best  holt  was  serious  pieces.  Nobody  could  beat 
Bill  writin'  obituaries.  When  old  Mose  Holbrook 
wuz  dyin'  the  minister  sez  to  him,  "Mr.  Hol 
brook,  you  seem  to  be  sorry  that  you're  passin' 
away  to  a  better  land  ?  " 

"  Wall,  no,  not  exactly  t/iat,"  sez  Mose ;  "  but, 
to  be  frank  with  you,  I  hev  jest  one  regret  in  con 
nection  with  this  affair." 

"  What's  that  ?  "  asked  the  minister. 

"  I  can't  help  feelin'  sorry,"  sez  Mose,  "  that 
I  ain't  goin'  to  hev  the  pleasure  uv  readin'  what 
Bill  Newton  sez  about  me  in  the  paper.  I  know 
it'll  be  sumthin'  uncommon  fine ;  I  loant  him  two 
dollars  a  year  ago  last  fall." 

The  Higginses  lost  a  darned  good  friend  when 
Bill  died.  Bill  wrote  a  pome  'bout  their  old  dog 
Towze  when  he  wuz  run  over  by  Watkins's  hay- 
wagon  seven  years  ago.  I'll  bet  that  pome  is  in 
every  scrap-book  in  the  county.  You  couldn't 
read  that  pome  without  cryin' — why,  that  pome 
wud  hev  brought  a  dew  out  on  the  Desert  uv  Sary. 
Old  Tim  Hubbard,  the  meanest  man  in  the  State, 
borrered  a  paper  to  read  the  pome,  and  he  wuz  so 
'fected  by  it  that  he  never  borrered  anuther  paper 


192  PROFITABLE   TALES 

as  long  as  he  lived.  I  don't  more'n  half  reckon, 
though,  that  the  Higginses  appreciated  what  Bill 
had  done  for  'em.  I  never  heerd  uv  their  givin' 
him  anythink  more'n  a  basket  uv  greenin'  apples, 
and  Bill  wrote  a  piece  'bout  the  apples  nex'  day. 
But  Bill  wuz  at  his  best  when  he  wrote  things 
about  the  children  —  about  the  little  ones  that  died, 
I  mean.  Seemed  like  Bill  had  a  way  of  his  own 
of  sayin'  things  that  wuz  beautiful  'nd  tender ;  he 
said  he  loved  the  children  because  they  wuz  inno 
cent,  and  I  reckon  —  yes,  I  know  he  did,  for  the 
pomes  he  writ  about  'em  showed  he  did. 

When  our  little  Alice  died  I  started  out  for 
Mr.  Miller's  ;  he  wuz  the  undertaker.  The  night 
wuz  powerful  dark,  'nd  it  wuz  all  the  darker  to 
me,  because  seemed  like  all  the  light  hed  gone  out 
in  my  life.  Down  near  the  bridge  I  met  Bill ;  he 
weaved  round  in  the  road,  for  he  wuz  in  likker. 

"  Hello,  Mr.  Baker!"  sez  he;  "  whar  be  you 
goin'  this  time  o'  night  ?  " 

"  Bill,"  sez  I,  "  I'm  goin'  on  the  saddest  errand 
uv  my  life." 

"  What  d'ye  mean  ?  "  sez  he,  comin'  up  to  me 
as  straight  as  he  cud. 

"  Why,  Bill,"  sez  I,  "  our  little  girl— my  little 
girl  —  Allie,  you  know  —  she's  dead." 

I  hoarsed  up  so  I  couldn't  say  much  more.  And 
Bill  didn't  say  nothink  at  all ;  he  jest  reached  me 
his  hand,  and  he  took  my  hand,  and  seemed  like 
in  that  grasp  his  heart  spoke  many  words  of  com- 


BILL,  THE  LOKIL    EDITOR  193 

fort  to  mine.  And  nex'  day  he  had  a  piece  in  the 
paper  about  our  little  girl  ;  we  cut  it  out  and  put 
it  in  the  big  Bible  in  the  front  room.  Sometimes 
when  we  get  to  fussin',  Martha  goes  'nd  gets  that 
bit  of  paper  'nd  reads  it  to  me ;  then  us  two  kind 
uv  cry  to  ourselves,  'nd  we  make  it  up  between 
us  for  the  dead  child's  sake. 

Well,  you  kin  see  how  it  wuz  that  so  many  uv 
us  liked  Bill ;  he  had  soothed  our  hearts  —  there's 
nothin'  like  sympathy,  after  all.  Bill's  potry  heel 
heart  in  it ;  it  didn't  surprise  you  or  scare  you ;  it 
jest  got  down  in  under  your  vest,  'nd  before  you 
knew  it  you  wuz  all  choked  up.  I  know  all  about 
your  fashionable  potry  and  your  famous  potes  — 
Martha  took  Godey's  for  a  year.  Folks  that  live 
in  the  city  can't  write  potry  —  not  the  real,  genuine 
article.  To  write  potry,  as  I  figure  it,  the  heart 
must  have  somethin'  to  feed  on;  you  can't  get 
that  somethin'  whar  there  ain't  trees  'nd  grass  'nd 
birds  'nd  flowers.  Bill  loved  these  things,  and 
he  fed  his  heart  on  'em,  and  that's  why  his  potry 
wuz  so  much  better  than  anybody  else's. 

I  ain't  worryin'  much  about  Bill  now ;  I  take  it 
that  everythink  is  for  the  best.  When  they  told 
me  that  Bill  died  in  a  drunken  fit  I  felt  that  his 
end  oughter  have  come  some  other  way  —  he  wuz 
too  good  a  man  for  that.  But  maybe,  after  all,  it 
was  ordered  for  the  best.  Jist  imagine  Bill  a-stand- 
in'  up  for  jedgment  ;  jist  imagine  that  poor,  sor 
rowful,  shiverin'  critter  waitin'  for  his  turn  to 


194  PROFITABLE   TALES 

come.  Pictur',  if  you  can,  how  full  uv  penitence 
he  is,  'nd  how  full  uv  potry  'nd  gentleness  'nd 
misery.  The  Lord  ain't  a-goin'  to  be  too  hard 
on  that  poor  wretch.  Of  course  we  can't  compre 
hend  divine  mercy ;  we  only  know  that  it  is  full 
of  compassion  —  a  compassion  infinitely  tenderer 
and  sweeter  than  ours.  And  the  more  I  think 
on't,  the  more  I  reckon  that  Bill  will  plead  to  win 
that  mercy,  for,  like  as  not,  the  little  ones  —  my 
Allie  with  the  rest  —  will  run  to  him  when  they 
see  him  in  his  trubble,  and  will  hold  his  tremblin' 
hands  'nd  twine  their  arms  about  him,  and  plead, 
with  him,  for  compassion. 

You've  seen  an  old  sycamore  that  the  lightnin' 
has  struck;  the  ivy  has  reached  up  its  vines  'nd 
spread  'em  all  around  it  'nd  over  it,  coverin'  its 
scars  'nd  splintered  branches  with  a  velvet  green, 
'nd  fillin'  the  air  with  fragrance.  You've  seen 
this  thing  and  you  know  that  it  is  beautiful. 

That's  Bill,  perhaps,  as  he  stands  up  f'r  jeclg- 
merit  —  a  miserable,  tremblin', 'nd  unworthy  thing, 
perhaps,  but  twined  about,  all  over,  with  singin' 
and  pleadin'  little  children  —  and  that  is  pleasin' 
in  God's  sight,  I  know. 

What  would  you — what  would  / — say,  if  we 
wuz  settin'  in  jedgment  then  ? 

Why,  we'd  jest  kind  uv  bresh  the  moisture  from 
our  eyes  'nd  say,  "  Mister  recordin'  angel,  you  may 
nollypros  this  case  'nd  perseed  with  the  docket." 

1888. 


THE    LITTLE    YALLER    BABY 


THE  LITTLE  YALLER  BABY 


HEV  allus  hed  a  good  opinion  uv  the 
wimmin  folks.  I  don't  look  at  'em  as 
some  people  do;  uv  course  they're  a 
necessity — just  as  men  are.  Uv  course 
if  there  warn't  no  wimmin  folks  there  wouldn't  be 
no  men  folks  —  leastwise  that's  what  the  medikil 
books  say.  But  I  never  wuz  much  on  discussin' 
humin  economy ;  what  I  hev  allus  thought  'nd  said 
wuz  that  wimmin  folks  wuz  a  kind  uv  luxury,  'nd 
the  best  kind,  too.  Maybe  it's  because  I  hain't 
hed  much  to  do  with  'em  that  I'm  sot  on  'em. 
Never  did  get  real  well  acquainted  with  more'n 
three  or  four  uv  'em  in  all  my  life ;  seemed  like  it 
wuz  meant  that  I  shouldn't  hev  'em  round  me  as 
most  men  hev.  Mother  died  when  I  wuz  a  little 
tyke,  an'  Ant  Mary  raised  me  till  I  wuz  big  enuff 
to  make  my  own  livin'.  Down  here  in  the  South 
west,  you  see,  most  uv  the  girls  is  boys ;  there 
ain't  none  uv  them  civilizin'  influences  folks  talk 
uv  —  nothin'  but  flowers  'nd  birds  'nd  such  things 


i98  PROFITABLE   TALES 

as  poetry  tells  about.  So  I  kind  uv  growed  up 
with  the  curis  notion  that  wimmin  folks  wuz  too 
good  for  our  part  uv  the  country,  'nd  I  hevn't 
quite  got  that  notion  out'n  my  head  yet. 

One  time  —  wall,  I  reckon  'twuz  about  four 
years  ago  —  I  got  a  letter  frum  ol'  Col.  Sibley  to 
come  up  to  Saint  Louey  'nd  consult  with  him  'bout 
some  stock  int'rests  we  hed  together.  Railroad 
travellin'  wuz  no  new  thing  to  me.  I  hed  been 
prutty  posperous — hed  got  past  hevin'  to  ride  in 
a  caboose  'nd  git  out  at  every  stop  to  punch  up 
the  steers.  Hed  money  in  the  Hoost'n  bank,  'nd 
use  to  go  to  Tchicargo  oncet  a  year ;  hed  met  Fill 
Armer  'nd  shook  hands  with  him,  'nd  oncet  the 
city  papers  hed  a  colume  article  about  my  bein'  a 
millionaire ;  uv  course  'twarn't  so,  but  a  feller 
kind  uv  likes  that  sort  uv  thing,  you  know. 

The  mornin'  after  I  got  that  letter  from  Col. 
Sibley  I  started  for  Saint  Louey.  I  took  a  bunk 
in  the  Pullman  car,  like  I  hed  been  doin'  for  six 
years  past ;  'nd  I  reckon  the  other  folks  must  hev 
thought  I  wuz  a  heap  uv  a  man,  for  every  haff- 
hour  I  give  the  nigger  haf  a  dollar  to  bresh  me  off. 
The  car  wuz  full  uv  people  —  rich  people,  too,  I 
reckon,  for  they  wore  good  clo'es  'nd  criticised  the 
scenery.  Just  across  frum  me  there  wuz  a  lady 
with  a  big,  fat  baby  —  the  pruttiest  woman  I  hed 
seen  in  a  month  uv  Sundays  ;  and  the  baby!  why, 
doggone  my  skin,  when  I  wuzn't  payin'  money  to 
the  nigger,  darned  if  I  didn't  set  there  watchin' 


THE  LITTLE    YALLER  BABY  199 

the  big,  fat  little  cuss,  like  he  wuz  the  only  baby 
I  ever  seen.  I  ain't  much  of  a  hand  at  babies, 
'cause  I  hain't  seen  many  uv  'em,  'nd  when  it 
comes  to  handlin'  'em  —  why,  that  would  break 
me  all  up,  'nd  like's  not  'twould  break  the  baby 
all  up  too.  But  it  has  allus  been  my  notion  that 
nex'  to  the  wimmin  folks  babies  wuz  jest  about 
the  nicest  things  on  earth.  So  the  more  I  looked 
at  that  big,  fat  little  baby  settin'  in  its  mother's 
lap  'cross  the  way,  the  more  I  wanted  to  look ; 
seemed  like  I  wuz  hoodooed  by  the  little  tyke ;  'nd 
the  first  thing  I  knew  there  wuz  water  in  my  eyes  ; 
don't  know  why  it  is,  but  it  allus  makes  me  kind 
ur  slop  over  to  set  'nd  watch  a  baby  cooin'  'nd 
playin'  in  its  mother's  lap. 

"  Look  a'  hyar,  Sam,"  says  I  to  the  nigger, 
"  come  hyar  'nd  bresh  me  off  agin  !  Why  ain't 
you  tendin'  to  bizniss?  " 

But  it  didn't  do  no  good  'tall ;  pertendin'  to  be 
cross  with  the  nigger  might  fool  the  other  folks  in 
the  car,  but  it  didn't  fool  me.  I  wuz  dead  stuck 
on  that  baby  —  gol  durn  his  pictur'  !  And  there 
the  little  tyke  set  in  its  mother's  lap,  doublin'  up 
its  fists  'nd  tryin'  to  swaller  'em,  'nd  talkin'  like 
to  its  mother  in  a  lingo  I  couldn't  understan',  but 
which  the  mother  could,  for  she  talked  back  to  the 
baby  in  a  soothin'  lingo  which  I  couldn't  under 
stand  but  which  I  liked  to  hear,  'nd  she  kissed 
the  baby  'nd  stroked  its  hair  'nd  petted  it  like 
wimmin  do. 


200  PROFITABLE   TALES 

It  made  me  mad  to  hear  them  other  folks  in 
the  car  criticism'  the  scenery  'nd  things.  A  man's 
in  mighty  poor  bizniss,  anyhow,  to  be  lookin'  at 
scenery  when  there's  a  woman  in  sight  —  a  woman 
and  a  baby  ! 

Prutty  soon  —  oh,  maybe  in  a  hour  or  two  —  the 
baby  began  to  fret  'nd  worrit.  Seemed  to  me  like 
the  little  critter  wuz  hungry.  Knowin'  that  there 
wuzn't  no  eatin '-house  this  side  uv  Bowieville,  I 
jest  called  the  train-boy,  'nd  says  I  to  him, 
"  Hev  you  got  any  victuals  that  will  do  for  a 
baby  ?  " 

"  How  is  oranges  and  bananas  ?  "  says  he. 
"That  ought  to  do,"  says  I.     "  Jist  do  up  a 
dozen  uv  your  best  oranges  'nd  a  dozen  uv  your 
best  bananas,  'nd  take  'em  over  to  that  baby  with 
my  complerments." 

But  before  he  could  do  it,  the  lady  hed  laid  the 
baby  on  one  uv  her  arms  'nd  hed  spread  a  shawl 
over  its  head  'nd  over  her  shoulder,  'nd  all  uv  a 
suddin'  the  baby  quit  worritin'  and  seemed  like 
he  hed  gone  to  sleep. 

When  we  got  to  York  Crossin'  I  looked  out'n 
the  winder  'nd  seen  some  men  carryin'  a  long  pine 
box  up  toward  the  baggage-car.  Seein'  their  hats 
off,  I  knew  there  wuz  a  dead  body  in  the  box,  'nd 
I  couldn't  help  feelin'  sorry  for  the  poor  creeter 
that  hed  died  in  that  lonely  place  uv  York  Cross- 
in'  ;  but  I  mought  hev  felt  a  heap  sorrier  for  the 
creeters  that  hed  to  live  there,  for  I'll  allow  that 


THE  LITTLE    YALLER  BABY  201 

York  Crossin'  is  a  leetle  the  durnedest  lonesomest 
place  I  ever  seen. 

Well,  just  afore  the  train  started  agin,  who 
should  come  into  the  car  but  Bill  Woodson,  and 
he  wuz  lookin'  powerful  tough.  Bill  herded  cattle 
for  me  three  winters,  but  hed  moved  away  when 
he  married  one  uv  the  waiter-girls  at  Spooner's 
hotel  at  Hoost'n. 

"  Hello,  Bill! "  says  I ;  "  what  air  you  totin'  so 
kind  uv  keerful-like  in  your  arms  there?  " 

"  Why,  I've  got  the  baby,"  says  he;  'nd  as  he 
said  it  the  tears  come  up  into  his  eyes. 

"  Your  own  baby,  Bill?  "  says  I. 

"  Yes,"  says  he.  "  Nellie  took  sick  uv  the 
janders  a  fortnight  ago,  'nd  —  'nd  she  died,  'nd 
I'm  takin'  her  body  up  to  Texarkany  to  bury. 
She  lived  there,  you  know,  'nd  I'm  goin'  to  leave 
the  baby  there  with  its  gran'ma." 

Poor  Bill  !  it  wuz  his  wife  that  the  men  were 
carryin'  in  that  pine  box  to  the  baggage-car. 

"  Likely-lookin'  baby,  Bill,"  says  I,  cheerful- 
like.  "Perfect  pictur'  uv  its  mother;  kind  uv 
favors  you  round  the  lower  part  uv  the  face,  tho'." 

I  said  this  to  make  Bill  feel  happier.  If  I'd 
told  the  truth,  I'd  've  said  the  baby  wuz  a  sickly, 
yaller-lookin'  little  thing,  for  so  it  wuz ;  looked 
haff-starved,  too.  Couldn't  help  comparin'  it  with 
that  big,  fat  baby  in  its  mother's  arms  over  the  way. 

"Bill,"  says  I,  "here's  a  ten-dollar  note  for 
the  baby,  'nd  God  bless  you  !  " 


202  PROFITABLE    TALES 

"Thank  ye,  Mr.  Goodhue,"  says  he,  'nd  he 
choked  all  up  as  he  moved  off  with  that  yaller 
little  baby  in  his  arms.  It  warn't  very  fur  up  the 
road  he  wuz  goin',  'nd  he  found  a  scat  in  one  uv 
the  front  cars. 

But  along  about  an  hour  after  that  back  come 
Bill,  moseyin'  through  the  car  like  he  wuz  huntin' 
for  somebody.  Seemed  like  he  wuz  in  trubble 
and  wuz  huntin'  for  a  friend. 

"  Anything  I  kin  do  for  you,  Bill  ?  "  says  I, 
but  he  didn't  make  no  answer.  All  of  a  suddint 
he  sot  his  eyes  on  the  prutty  lady  that  had  the  fat 
baby  sleepin'  in  her  arms,  'nd  he  made  a  break 
for  her  like  he  wuz  crazy.  He  took  off  his  hat 
'nd  bent  down  over  her  'nd  said  somethin'  none 
uv  the  rest  uv  us  could  hear.  The  lady  kind  uv 
started  like  she  wuz  frightened,  'nd  then  she 
looked  up  at  Bill  'nd  looked  him  right  square  in 
the  countenance.  She  saw  a  tall,  ganglin',  awk 
ward  man,  with  long  yaller  hair  'nd  frowzy  beard, 
'nd  she  saw  that  he  wuz  tremblin'  'nd  heel  tears 
in  his  eyes.  She  looked  down  at  the  fat  baby  in 
her  arms,  'nd  then  she  looked  out'n  the  winder  at 
the  great  stretch  uv  prairie-land,  'nd  seemed  like 
she  wuz  lookin'  off  further'n  the  rest  uv  us  could 
see.  Then,  at  last,  she  turnt  around  'nd  said 
"  Yes  "  to  Bill,  'nd  Bill  went  off  into  the  front 
car  ag'in. 

None  uv  the  rest  uv  us  knew  what  all  this 
meant,  but  in  a  minnit  Bill  come  back  with  his 


THE  LITTLE    YALLER  BABY  203 

little  yaller  baby  in  his  arms,  'nd  you  never  heerd 
a  baby  squall  'nd  carry  on  like  that  baby  wuz 
squallin'  'nd  carryin'  on.  Fact  is,  the  little  yaller 
baby  was  hungry,  hungrier  'n  a  wolf,  'nd  there 
wuz  its  mother  dead  in  the  car  up  ahead  'nd  its 
gran'ma  a  good  piece  up  the  road.  What  did 
the  lady  over  the  way  do  but  lay  her  own  sleepin' 
baby  down  on  the  seat  beside  her  'nd  take  Bill's 
little  yaller  baby  'nd  hold  it  on  one  arm  'nd  cover 
up  its  head  'nd  her  shoulder  with  a  shawl,  jist  like 
she  had  done  with  the  fat  baby  not  long  afore. 
Bill  never  looked  at  her ;  he  took  off  his  hat  and 
held  it  in  his  hand,  'nd  turnt  around  'nd  stood 
guard  over  that  mother,  'nd  I  reckon  that  ef  any 
man  hed  darst  to  look  that  way  jist  then  Bill 
would  've  cut  his  heart  out. 

The  little  yaller  baby  didn't  cry  very  long. 
Seemed  like  it  knowed  there  wuz  a  mother  holdin' 
it — not  its  own  mother,  but  a  woman  whose  life 
hed  been  hallowed  by  God's  blessin'  with  the  love 
'nd  the  purity  'nd  the  sanctity  uv  motherhood. 

Why,  I  wouldn't  hev  swapped  that  sight  uv 
Bill  'an  them  two  babies  'nd  that  sweet  woman 
for  all  the  cattle  in  Texas !  It  jest  made  me  know 
that  what  I'd  allus  thought  uv  wimmin  was  gos 
pel  truth.  God  bless  that  lady!  I  say,  wherever 
she  is  to-day,  'nd  God  bless  all  wimmin  folks,  for 
they're  all  alike  in  their  unselfishness  'nd  gentle 
ness  'nd  love  ! 

Bill  said  "  God  bless  ye!  "  too,  when  she  handed 


204  PROFITABLE   TALES 

him  back  his  poor  little  yaller  baby.  The  little 
creeter  wuz  fast  asleep,  'nd  Bill  darsent  speak  very 
loud  for  fear  he'd  wake  it  up.  But  his  heart  wuz 
way  up  in  his  mouth  when  he  says  "  God  bless 
ye!  "  to  that  dear  lady ;  'nd  then  he  added,  like  he 
wanted  to  let  her  know  that  he  meant  to  pay  her 
back  when  he  could,  "I'll  do  the  same  for  you 
sometime,  marm,  if  I  kin." 

1888. 


THE    CYCLOPEEDY 


THE    CYCLOPEEDY 


AVIN'  lived  next  door  to  the  Hobart 
place  f'r  goin'  on  thirty  years,  I  calc'- 
late  that  I  know  jest  about  ez  much 
about  the  case  ez  anybody  else  now  on 
airth,  exceptin',  perhaps,  it's  ol'  Jedge  Baker,  and 
he's  so  plaguy  old  'nd  so  powerful  feeble  that  he 
don't  know  nothin'. 

It  seems  that  in  the  spring  uv  '47  —  the  year 
that  Cy  Watson's  oldest  boy  wuz  drownded  in 
West  River  —  there  come  along  a  book-agent 
sellin'  volyumes  'nd  tracks  f'r  the  diffusion  uv 
knowledge,  'nd  havin'  got  the  recommend  of  the 
minister  'nd  uv  the  selectmen,  he  done  an  all-fired 
big  business  in  our  part  uv  the  county.  His 
name  wuz  Lemuel  Higgins,  'nd  he  wuz  ez  likely 
a  talker  ez  I  ever  heerd,  barrin'  Lawyer  Conkey, 
'nd  everybody  allowed  that  when  Conkey  wuz 
round  he  talked  so  fast  that  the  town  pump  ud 
have  to  be  greased  every  twenty  minutes. 

One  of  the  first  uv  our  folks  that  this  Lemuel 


208  PROFITABLE   TALES 

Higgins  struck  wuz  Leander  Hobart.  Leander 
had  jest  marr'd  one  uv  the  Peasley  girls,  'nd  had 
moved  into  the  old  homestead  on  the  Plainville 
road  — old  Deacon  Hobart  havin'  give  up  the 
place  to  him,  the  other  boys  havin'  moved  out 
West  (like  a  lot  o'  darned  fools  that  they  wuz!). 
Leander  wuz  feelin'  his  oats  jest  about  this  time, 
'nd  nuthin'  wuz  too  good  f'r  him. 

"  Hattie,"  sez  he,  "  I  guess  I'll  have  to  lay  in 
a  few  books  f'r  reaclin'  in  the  winter-time,  'nd 
I've  half  a  notion  to  subscribe  f'r  a  cyclopeedy. 
Mr.  Higgins  here  sez  they're  invalerable  in  a 
family,  and  that  we  orter  have  'em,  bein'  as  how 
we're  likely  to  have  the  fam'ly  bime  by." 

"  Lor's  sakes,  Leander,  how  you  talk!"  sez 
Hattie,  blushin'  all  over,  ez  brides  allers  does  to 
heern  tell  uv  sich  things. 

Waal,  to  make  a  long  story  short,  Leander  bar 
gained  with  Mr.  Higgins  for  a  set  uv  them  cyclo- 
peedies,  'nd  he  signed  his  name  to  a  long  printed 
paper  that  showed  how  he  agreed  to  take  a  cyclo 
peedy  oncet  in  so  often,  which  wuz  to  be  ez  often 
ez  a  new  one  uv  the  volyumes  wuz  printed.  A 
cyclopeedy  isn't  printed  all  at  oncet,  because  that 
would  make  it  cost  too  much ;  consekently  the  man 
that  gets  it  up  has  it  strung  along  fur  apart,  so  as 
to  hit  folks  oncet  every  year  or  two,  and  gin 'rally 
about  harvest-time.  So  Leander  kind  uv  liked 
the  idee,  and  he  signed  the  printed  paper  'nd 
made  his  affidavit  to  it  afore  Jedge  Warner. 


THE  CYCLOPEEDY  209 

The  fust  volyume  of  the  cyclopeedy  stood  on  a 
shelf  in  the  old  seckertary  in  the  settin'-room 
about  four  months  before  they  had  any  use  f'r  it. 
One  night  'Squire  Turner's  son  come  over  to  visit 
Leander  'nd  Hattie,  and  they  got  to  talkin'  about 
apples,  'nd  the  sort  uv  apples  that  wuz  the  best. 
Leander  allowed  that  the  Rhode  Island  greenin' 
wuz  the  best,  but  Hattie  and  the  Turner  boy 
stuck  up  f'r  the  Roxbury  russet,  until  at  last  a 
happy  idee  struck  Leander,  and  sez  he,  "  We'll 
leave  it  to  the  cyclopeedy,  b'gosh  !  Which 
ever  one  the  cyclopeedy  sez  is  the  best  will 
settle  it." 

"  But  you  can't  find  out  nothin'  'bout  Roxbury 
russets  nor  Rhode  Island  greenin's  in  our  cyclo 
peedy,"  sez  Hattie. 

"  Why  not,  I'd  like  to  know?  "  sez  Leander, 
kind  uv  indignant-like. 

"  'Cause  ours  hain't  got  down  to  the  R  yet," 
sez  Hattie.  "All  ours  tells  about  is  things  be- 
ginnin'  with  A." 

"Well,  ain't  we  talkin'  about  Apples?"  sez 
Leander.  ' '  You  aggervate  me  terrible,  Hattie,  by 
insistin'  on  knowin'  what  you  don't  know  nothin' 
'bout." 

Leander  went  to  the  seckertary  'nd  took  down 
the  cyclopeedy  'nd  hunted  all  through  it  f'r  Apples, 
but  all  he  could  find  wuz  :  "  Apple  —  See  Pomol 
ogy." 

"  How  in  thunder  kin  I  see  Pomology,"  sez 


2io  PROFITABLE   TALES 

Leander,  "  when  there  ain't  no  Pomology  to  see? 
Gol  durn  the  cyclopeedy,  anyhow!  " 

And  he  put  the  volyume  back  on  to  the  shelf 
'nd  never  sot  eyes  into  it  agin. 

That's  the  way  the  thing  run  f'r  years  'nd  years. 
Leander  would  've  gin  up  the  plaguy  bargain, 
but  he  couldn't ;  he  had  signed  a  printed  paper 
'nd  had  swore  to  it  afore  a  justice  of  the  peace. 
Higgins  would  have  had  the  law  on  him  if  he  had 
throwed  up  the  trade. 

The  most  aggervatin'  feature  uv  it  all  wuz  that 
a  new  one  uv  them  cussid  cyclopeedies  wuz  allus 
sure  to  show  up  at  the  wrong  time  —  when  Lean 
der  wuz  hard  up  or  had  jest  been  afflicted  some 
way  or  other.  His  barn  burned  down  two  nights 
afore  the  volyume  containin'  the  letter  B  arrived, 
and  Leander  needed  all  his  chink  to  pay  f'r  lum 
ber,  but  Higgins  sot  back  on  that  affidavit  and 
defied  the  life  out  uv  him. 

"  Never  mind,  Leander,"  sezhis  wife,  soothin'- 
like ;  "  it's  a  good  book  to  have  in  the  house,  any 
how,  now  that  we've  got  a  baby." 

"  That's  so,"  sez  Leander,  "  Babies  does  begin 
with  B,  don't  it  ?  " 

You  see  their  fust  baby  had  been  born ;  they 
named  him  Peasley  —  Peasley  Hobart  —  after  Hat- 
tie's  folks.  So,  seein'  as  how  it  wuz  payin'  f'r 
a  book  that  told  about  babies,  Leander  didn't  be- 
gredge  that  five  dollars  so  very  much  after  all. 

"  Leander,"  sez  Hattie,  one  forenoon,  "  that  B 


THE   CYCLOPEEDY  211 

cyclopeedy  ain't  no  account.  There  ain't  nothin' 
in  it  about  babies  except  '  See  Maternity '! " 

"Waal,  I'll  be  gosh  durned!"  sez  Leander. 
That  wuz  all  he  said,  and  he  couldn't  do  nothin' 
at  all,  f'r  that  book-agent,  Lemuel  Higgins,  had 
the  dead-wood  on  him  —  the  mean,  sneakin'  crit 
ter! 

So  the  years  passed  on,  one  of  them  cyclopeedies 
showin'  up  now  'nd  then  —  sometimes  every  two 
years  'nd  sometimes  every  four,  but  allus  at  a  time 
when  Leander  found  it  pesky  hard  to  give  up  a 
fiver.  It  warn't  no  use  cussin'  Higgins  ;  Higgins 
just  laffed  when  Leander  allowed  that  the  cyclo 
peedy  wuz  no  good  'nd  that  he  wuz  bein'  robbed. 
Meantime  Leander's  family  wuz  increasin'  and 
growin'.  Little  Sarey  had  the  hoopin'  cough 
dreadful  one  winter,  but  the  cyclopeedy  didn't 
help  out  at  all,  'cause  all  it  said  wuz :  "  Hoopin' 
Cough  —  See  Whoopin'  Cough  "  —  and  uv  course 
there  warn't  no  Whoopin'  Cough  to  see,  bein'  as 
how  the  W  hadn't  come  yet  ! 

Oncet  when  Hiram  wanted  to  dreen  the  home 
pasture,  he  went  to  the  cyclopeedy  to  find  out 
about  it,  but  all  he  diskivered  wuz:  "Drain  — 
See  Tile."  This  wuz  in  1859,  and  the  cyclopeedy 
had  only  got  down  to  G. 

The  cow  wuz  sick  with  lung-fever  one  spell,  and 
Leander  laid  her  dyin'  to  that  cussid  cyclopeedy, 
'cause  when  he  went  to  readin'  'bout  cows  it  told 
him  to  "  See  Zoology." 


212  PROFITABLE    TALES 

But  what's  the  use  uv  harrowin'  up  one's  feel- 
in's  talkin'  'nd  thinkin'  about  these  things?  Lean- 
der  got  so  after  a  while  that  the  cyclopeedy  didn't 
worry  him  at  all :  he  grew  to  look  at  it  ez  one  uv 
the  crosses  that  human  critters  has  to  bear  with 
out  complainin'  through  this  vale  uv  tears.  The 
only  thing  that  bothered  him  wuz  the  fear  that 
mebbe  he  wouldn't  live  to  see  the  last  volyume  — 
to  tell  the  truth,  this  kind  uv  got  to  be  his  hobby, 
and  I've  heern  him  talk  'bout  it  many  a  time  set- 
tin'  round  the  stove  at  the  tarvern  'nd  squirtin' 
tobacco-juice  at  the  sawdust-box.  His  wife,  Hat- 
tie,  passed  away  with  the  yaller  janders  the  winter 
W  come,  and  all  that  seemed  to  reconcile  Leander 
to  survivin'  her  wuz  the  prospect  uv  seein'  the  last 
volyume  uv  that  cyclopeedy.  Lemuel  Higgins, 
the  book-agent,  had  gone  to  his  everlastin'  punish 
ment  ;  but  his  son,  Hiram,  had  succeeded  to  his 
father's  business  'nd  continued  to  visit  the  folks 
his  old  man  had  roped  in.  By  this  time  Leander's 
children  had  growed  up ;  all  on  'em  wuz  marr'd, 
and  there  wuz  numeris  grandchildren  to  amuse  the 
ol'  gentleman.  But  Leander  wuzn't  to  be  satis 
fied  with  the  common  things  uv  airth ;  he  didn't 
seem  to  take  no  pleasure  in  his  grandchildren  like 
most  men  do ;  his  mind  wuz  allers  sot  on  some- 
thin'  else  —  for  hours  'nd  hours,  yes,  all  day  long, 
he'd  set  out  on  the  front  stoop  lookin'  wistfully 
up  the  road  for  that  book-agent  to  come  along 
with  a  cyclopeedy.  He  didn't  want  to  die  till  he'd 


THE   CYCLOPEEDY  2j3 

got  all  the  cyclopeedies  his  contract  called  for ;  he 
wanted  to  have  everything  straightened  out  before 
he  passed  away. 

When  —  oh,  how  well  I  recollect  it!  —  when  Y 
come  along  he  wuz  so  overcome  that  he  fell  over 
in  a  fit  uv  paralysis,  'nd  the  old  gentleman  never 
got  over  it.  For  the  next  three  years  he  drooped 
'nd  pined,  and  seemed  like  he  couldn't  hold  out 
much  longer.  Finally  he  had  to  take  to  his  bed  — 
he  was  so  old  'nd  feeble  —  but  he  made  'em  move 
the  bed  up  aginst  the  winder  so  he  could  watch 
for  that  last  volyume  of  the  cyclopeedy. 

The  end  come  one  balmy  day  in  the  spring  uv 
'87.  His  life  wuz  a-ebbin'  powerful  fast;  the 
minister  wuz  there,  'nd  me,  'nd  Dock  Wilson, 
'nd  Jedge  Baker,  'nd  most  uv  the  fam'ly.  Lovin' 
hands  smoothed  the  wrinkled  forehead  'nd  breshed 
back  the  long  scant  white  hair,  but  the  eyes  of 
the  dyin'  man  wuz  sot  upon  that  piece  uv  road 
down  which  the  cyclopeedy  man  allus  come. 

All  to  oncet  a  bright  'nd  joyful  look  come  into 
them  eyes,  'nd  oP  Leander  riz  up  in  bed  'nd  sez, 
"  It's  come! " 

"What  is  it,  Father?"  asked  his  daughter 
Sarey,  sobbin'  like. 

"  Hush,"  sez  the  minister,  solemnly ;  "he  sees 
the  shinin'  gates  uv  the  Noo  Jerusalum." 

"No,  no,"  cried  the  aged  man;  "it  is  the 
cyclopeedy  —  the  letter  Z  —  it's  comin'  !  " 

And,   sure  enough!   the  door  opened,  and  in 


2i4  PROFITABLE   TALES 

walked  Higgins.  He  tottered  rather  than  walked, 
f'r  he  had  growed  old  'nd  feeble  in  his  wicked 
perfession. 

"  Here's  the  Z  cyclopeedy,  Mr.  Hobart,"  sez 
Higgins. 

Leander  clutched  it ;  he  hugged  it  to  his  pantin' 
bosom ;  then  stealin'  one  pale  hand  under  the  pil- 
ler  he  drew  out  a  faded  bank-note  'nd  gave  it  to 
Higgins. 

"  I  thank  Thee  for  this  boon,"  sez  Leander,  roll- 
in'  his  eyes  up  devoutly ;  then  he  gave  a  deep  sigh. 

"  Hold  on!"  cried  Higgins,  excitedly,  "  you've 
made  a  mistake  —  it  isn't  the  last  —  " 

But  Leander  didn't  hear  him  —  his  soul  hed  fled 
from  its  mortal  tenement  'nd  hed  soared  rejoicin' 
to  realms  uv  everlastin'  bliss. 

"  He  is  no  more,"  sez  Dock  Wilson,  meta 
phorically. 

"  Then  who  are  his  heirs?  "  asked  that  mean 
critter  Higgins. 

"  We  be,"  sez  the  family. 

"  Do  you  conjointly  and  severally  acknowledge 
and  assume  the  obligation  of  deceased  to  me?  " 
he  asked  'em. 

"  What  obligation?  "  asked  Peasley  Hobart, 
stern-like. 

"Deceased  died  owin'  me  f'r  a  cyclopeedy!" 
sez  Higgins. 

"  That's  a  lie  !  "  sez  Peasley.  "  We  all  seen 
him  pay  you  for  the  Z  !  " 


THE   CYCLOPEEDY  215 

"  But  there's  another  one  to  come,"  sez  Hig- 
gins. 

"  Another?  "  they  all  asked. 

"  Yes,  the  index  !  "  sez  he. 

So  there  wuz,  and  I'll  be  eternally  goll  dunned 
if  he  ain't  a-suin'  the  estate  in  the  probate  court 
now  f'r  the  price  uv  it  ! 

1889. 


DOCK   STEBBINS 


DOCK   STEBBINS 


OST  everybody  liked  Dock  Stebbins, 
fur  all  he  wuz  the  darnedest  critter  that 
ever  lived  to  play  jokes  on  folks! 
Seems  like  he  wuz  born  jokin'  'nd 
kep'  it  up  all  his  life.  OP  Mrs.  Stebbins  use  to 
tell  how  when  the  Dock  wuz  a  baby  he  use  to  wake 
her  up  haff  a  dozen  times  un  a  night  cryin'  like  he 
wuz  hungry,  'nd  when  she  turnt  over  in  bed  to 
him  he  wud  laff  'nd  coo  like  he  wuz  sayin',  "  No, 
thank  ye  —  I  wuz  only  foolin'!" 

His  mother  allus  thought  a  heap  uv  the  Dock, 
'nd  she  allus  put  up  with  his  jokes  'nd  things  with 
out  grumblin' ;  said  it  warn't  his  fault  that  he  wuz 
so  full  uv  tricks  'nd  funny  business  ;  kind  uv  took 
the  responsibility  uv  it  onto  herself,  because,  as 
she  allowed,  she'd  been  to  a  circus  jest  afore  he 
wuz  born. 

Nothin'  tickled  the  Dock  more'n  to  worry  folks 
—  not  in  a  mean  way,  but  jest  to  sort  uv  bother  'em. 


220  PROFITABLE   TALES 

Use  to  hang  round  the  post-office  'nd  pertend  to 
have  fits  —  sakes  alive!  but  how  that  scared  the 
women  folks.  One  day  who  should  come  along 
but  ol'  Sue  Perkins;  Sue  wuz  suspicioned  of 
takin'  a  nip  uv  likker  on  the  quiet  now  'nd  then, 
but  nobody  had  ever  ketched  her  at  it.  Wall,  the 
Dock  he  had  one  uv  his  fits  jest  as  Sue  hove  in 
sight,  'nd  Lem  Thompson  (who  stood  in  with 
Dock  in  all  his  deviltry)  leant  over  Dock  while  he 
wuz  wallerin'  'nd  pertending  to  foam  at  the  mouth, 
and  Lem  cried  out,  ' '  Nothink  will  fetch  him  out'n 
this  turn  but  a  drink  uv  brandy."  Sue,  who  wuz 
as  kind-hearted  a  old  maid  as  ever  superintended 
a  strawberry  festival,  whipped  a  bottle  out'n  her 
bag  'nd  says,  "  Here  you  be,  Lem,  but  don't  let 
him  swaller  the  bottle."  Folks  bothered  Sue  a 
heap  'bout  this  joke,  till  she  moved  down  into 
Texas  to  teach  school. 

Dock  had  a  piece  uv  wood  'bout  two  inches 
long — maybe  three:  it  wuz  black  'nd  stubby  'nd 
looked  jest  like  the  butt  uv  a  cigar.  Nobody  but 
Dock  wud  ever  hev  thought  uv  sech  a  fool  thing, 
but  Dock  use  to  go  round  with  that  thing  in  his 
mouth  like  it  wuz  a  cigar,  and  when  he'd  meet  a 
man  who  wuz  smokin'  he'd  say,  "  Excuse  me, 
but  will  you  please  to  gimme  a  light?  "  Then 
the  man  wud  hand  over  his  cigar,  and  Dock  wud 
plough  that  wood  stub  uv  his'n  around  in  the 
lighted  cigar  and  would  pertend  to  puff  away  till 
he  had  put  the  real  cigar  out,  'nd  then  Dock  wud 


DOCK  STEBB1NS  221 

hand  the  cigar  back,  sayin',  kind  uv  regretful-like, 
"  You  don't  seem  to  have  much  uv  a  light  there ; 
I  reckon  I'll  wait  till  I  kin  git  a  match."  You 
kin  imagine  how  that  other  feller's  cigar  tasted 
when  he  lighted  it  agin.  Dock  tried  it  on  me 
oncet,  'nd  when  I  lighted  up  agin  seemed  like  I 
wuz  smokin'  a  piece  uv  rope  or  a  liver-pad. 

One  time  Dock  'nd  Lem  Thompson  went  over 
to  Peory  on  the  railroad,  'nd  while  they  wuz  set- 
tin'  in  the  car  in  come  two  wimmin  'nd  set  in  the 
seat  ahead  uv  'em.  All  uv  a  suddint  Dock  nudged 
Lem  and  sez,  jest  loud  enuff  fur  the  wimmin  to 
hear,  "  I  didn't  git  round  till  after  it  wuz  over,  but 
I  never  see  sech  a  sight  as  that  baby's  ear  wuz." 

Lem  wuz  onto  Dock's  methods,  'nd  he  knew 
there  wuz  sumthin'  ahead.  So  he  says,  "  Tough- 
lookin'  ear,  wuz  it?  " 

"  Wall,  I  should  remark,"  says  Dock.  "  You 
see  it  wuz  like  this  :  the  mother  had  gone  out  into 
the  back  yard  to  hang  some  clo'es  onto  the  line, 
'nd  she  laid  the  baby  down  in  the  crib.  Baby 
wan't  more'n  six  weeks  old — helpless  little  critter 
as  ever  you  seen.  Wall,  all  to  oncet  the  mother 
heerd  the  baby  cryin',  but  bein'  busy  with  them 
clo'es  she  didn't  mind  much.  The  baby  kep' 
cryin'  'nd  cryin',  'nd  at  last  the  mother  come 
back  into  the  house,  'nd  there  she  found  a  big 
rat  gnawin'  at  one  uv  the  baby's  ears — had  et  it 
nearly  off!  There  lay  that  helpless  little  innocent, 
cryin'  'nd  writhin',  'nd  there  sat  that  rat  with  his 


222  PROFITABLE   TALES 

long  tail,  nippin'  'nd  chewin'  at  one  uv  them  tiny 
coral  ears  —  oh,  it  wuz  offul!" 

"Jest  imagine  the  feelinks  uv  the  mother!" 
says  Leni,  sad-like. 

"Jest  imagine  the  feelinks  uv  the  baby!"  sez 
Dock.  "  How'd  you  like  to  be  lyin'  helpless  in 
a  crib  with  a  big  rat  gnawin'  your  ear?  " 

Wall,  all  this  conversation  wuz  fur  from  pleas 
ant  to  those  two  wimmin  in  the  front  seat,  fur 
wimmin  love  babies  'nd  hate  rats,  you  know.  It 
wuz  nuts  fur  Dock  'nd  Lem  to  see  the  two  wim 
min  squirm,  'nd  all  the  way  to  Peory  they  didn't 
talk  about  nuthink  but  snakes  'nd  spiders  'nd  mice 
'nd  caterpillars.  When  the  train  got  to  Peory  a 
gentleman  met  the  two  wimmin  'nd  sez  to  one  uv 
'em,  "  I'm  feered  the  trip  hain't  done  you  much 
good,  Lizzie,"  says  he.  "  Sakes  alive,  John," 
says  she,  "  it's  a  wonder  we  hain't  dead,  for  we've 
been  travellin'  forty  miles  with  a  real  live  Beadle 
dime  novvell!" 

'Nuther  trick  Dock  had  wuz  to  walk  'long  the 
street  behind  wimmin  'nd  tell  about  how  his  sister 
had  jest  lost  one  uv  her  diamond  earrings  while 
i  out  walkin'.  Jest  as  soon  as  the  wimmin  heerd 
this  they'd  clap  their  han's  up  to  their  ears  to  see 
if  their  earrings  wuz  all  right.  Dock  never  laffed 
nor  let  on  like  he  wuz  jokin',  but  jest  the  same 
this  sort  uv  thing  tickled  him  nearly  to  deth. 

Dock  went  up  to  Chicago  with  Jedge  Craig 
oncet,  'nd  when  they  come  back  the  jedge  said 


DOCK  STEBBINS  223 

he'd  never  had  such  an  offul  time  in  all  his  born 
days.  Said  that  Dock  bought  a  fool  Mother  Goose 
book  to  read  in  the  hoss-cars  jest  to  queer  folks ; 
would  set  in  a  hoss-car  lookin'  at  the  pictur's  'nd 
readin'  the  verses  'nd  laffin'  like  it  wuz  all  new  to 
him  'nd  like  he  wuz  a  child.  Everybody  sized  him 
up  for  a  ejeot,  'nd  the  wimmin  folks  shook  their 
heads  'nd  said  it  wuz  orful  fur  so  fine  a  lookin' 
feller  to  be  such  a  tomfool.  'Nuther  thing  Dock 
did  wuz  to  git  hold  uv  a  bad  quarter  'nd  give  it  to 
a  beggar,  'nd  then  foller  the  beggar  into  a  saloon 
'nd  git  him  arrested  for  tryin'  to  pass  counterfit 
money.  I  reckon  that  if  Dock  had  stayed  in 
Chicago  a  week  he'd  have  had  everybody  crazy. 

No,  I  don't  know  how  he  come  to  be  a  medikil 
man.  He  told  me  oncet  that  when  he  found  out 
that  he  wuzn't  good  for  anythink  he  concluded 
he'd  be  a  doctor ;  but  I  reckon  that  wuz  one  uv 
his  jokes.  He  didn't  have  much  uv  a  practice : 
he  wuz  too  yumorous  to  suit  most  invalids  'nd 
sick  folks.  We  had  him  tend  our  boy  Sam  jest 
oncet  when  Sam  wuz  comin'  down  with  the  measles. 
He  looked  at  Sam's  tongue  'nd  felt  his  pulse  'nd 
said  he'd  leave  a  pill  for  Sam  to  take  afore  goin' 
to  bed. 

"  How  shell  we  administer  the  pill?  "  asked  my 
wife. 

"  Wall,"  says  Dock,  "  the  best  way  to  do  is  to 
git  the  boy  down  on  the  floor  'nd  hold  his  mouth 
open  'nd  gag  him  till  he  swallers  the  pill.  After 


224  PROFITABLE   TALES 

the  pill  gits  into  his  system  it  will  explode  in  about 
ten  minits,  'nd  then  the  boy  will  feel  better." 

This  wuz  cheerful  news  for  the  boy.  No  human 
power  cud  ha'  got  that  pill  into  Sam.  We  never 
solicited  Dock's  perfeshional  services  agin. 

One  time  Dock  'nd  Lem  Thompson  drove  over 
to  Knoxville  to  help  Dock  Parsons  cut  a  man's 
leg  off.  About  four  miles  out  uv  town  'nd  right 
in  the  middle  uv  the  hot  peraroor  they  met  Moses 
Baker's  oldest  boy  trudgin'  along  with  a  basket 
uv  eggs.  The  Dock  whoaed  his  hoss  'nd  called 
to  the  boy. 

"  Where  be  you  goin'  with  them  eggs?  "  says, 
he. 

Goin'  to  town  to  sell  'em,"  says  the  boy. 

"  How  much  a  dozen  ?  "  asked  the  Dock. 

"  'Bout  ten  cents,  I  reckon,"  says  the  boy. 

"  Putty  likely-lookin'  eggs,"  says  the  Dock; 
'nd  he  handed  the  lines  over  to  Lem,  'nd  got  out'n 
the  buggy. 

"  How  many  hev  you  got?  "  he  asked. 

"  Ten  dozen,"  says  the  boy. 

"  Git  out! "  says  Dock.  "  There  hain't  no  ten 
dozen  eggs  in  that  basket!" 

"  Yes,  there  is,"  says  the  boy,  "fur  I  counted 
'em  myself." 

The  Dock  allowed  that  he  wuzn't  goin'  to  take 
nobody's  count  on  eggs  ;  so  he  got  that  fool  boy 
to  stan'  there  in  the  middle  uv  that  hot  peraroor, 
claspin'  his  two  hands  together,  while  he,  the 


DOCK  STEBBINS  22$ 

Dock,  counted  them  eggs  out'n  the  basket  one 
by  one  into  the  boy's  arms.  Ten  dozen  eggs  is 
a  heap ;  you  kin  imagine,  maybe,  how  that  boy 
looked  with  his  arms  full  uv  eggs!  When  the 
Dock  had  got  about  nine  dozen  counted  out  he 
stopped  all  uv  a  suddint  'nd  said,  "  Wall,  come  to 
think  on't,  I  reckon  I  don't  want  no  eggs  to-day, 
but  I'm  jest  as  much  obleeged  to  you  fur  yer 
trouble. "  And  so  he  jumped  back  into  the  buggy 
'nd  drove  off. 

Now,  maybe  that  fool  boy  wuzn't  in  a  peck  uv 
trubble!  There  he  stood  in  the  middle  uv  that 
hot  —  that  all-fired  hot  —  peraroor  with  his  arms 
full  uv  eggs.  What  wuz  there  fur  him  to  do? 
He  wuz  afraid  to  move,  lest  he  should  break 
them  eggs  ;  yet  the  longer  he  stood  there  the  less 
chance  there  wuz  of  the  warm  weather  improvin' 
the  eggs. 

Along  in  the  summer  of  '78  the  fever  broke  out 
down  South,  'nd  one  day  Dock  made  up  his  mind 
that  as  bizness  wuzn't  none  too  good  at  home  he'd 
go  down  South  'nd  see  what  he  could  do  there. 
That  wuz  jest  like  one  of  Dock's  fool  notions,  we 
all  said.  But  he  went.  In  about  six  weeks  along 
come  a  telegraph  sayin'  that  Dock  wuz  dead — 
he'd  died  uv  the  fever.  The  minister  went  up  to 
the  homestead  'nd  broke  the  news  gentle-like  to 
Dock's  mother ;  but,  bless  you!  she  didn't  believe 
it  —  she  wouldn't  believe  it.  She  said  it  wuz  one 
uv  Dock's  jokes ;  she  didn't  blame  him,  nuther 


226  PROFITABLE   TALES 

—  it  wuz  her  fault,  she  allowed,  that  Dock  wuz 
allus  that  way  about  makin'  fun  uv  life  'nd  death. 
No,  sir ;  she  never  believed  that  Dock  wuz  dead, 
but  she  allus  talked  like  he  might  come  in  any 
minnit ;  and  there  wuz  allus  his  old  place  set  fur 
him  at  the  table,  'nd  nuthin'  was  disturbed  in  his 
little  room  upstairs.  And  so  five  years  slipped  by 
'nd  no  Dock  come  back,  'nd  there  wuz  no  tidin's 
uv  him.  Uv  course  the  rest  uv  us  knew ;  but  his 
mother — oh  no,  she  never  would  believe  it. 

At  last  the  old  lady  fell  sick,  and  the  doctor 
said  she  couldn't  hold  out  long,  she  wuz  so  old 
'nd  feeble.  The  minister  who  wuz  there  said  that 
she  seemed  to  sleep  from  the  evenin'  of  this  life 
into  the  mornin'  uv  the  next.  Jest  afore  the  last 
she  kind  uv  raised  up  in  bed  and  cried  out  like 
she  saw  sumthin'  that  she  loved,  and  she  held  out 
her  arms  like  there  wuz  some  one  standin'  in  the 
doorway.  Then  they  asked  her  what  the  matter 
wuz,  and  she  says,  joyful-like,  "  He's  come  back, 
and  there  he  Stan's  jest  as  he  useter :  I  knew  he 
wuz  only  jokin'!" 

They  looked,  but  they  saw  nuthin' ;  'nd  when 
they  went  to  her  she  wuz  dead. 

1888. 


THE    FAIRIES   OF   PESTH 


THE    FAIRIES    OF    PESTH 


N"  old  poet  walked  alone  in  a  quiet 
valley.  His  heart  was  heavy,  and  the 
voices  of  Nature  consoled  him.  His 
life  had  been  a  lonely  and  sad  one. 
Many  years  ago  a  great  grief  fell  upon  him,  and 
it  took  away  all  his  joy  and  all  his  ambition.  It 
was  because  he  brooded  over  his  sorrow,  and  be 
cause  he  was  always  faithful  to  a  memory,  that 
the  townspeople  deemed  him  a  strange  old  poet ; 
but  they  loved  him  and  they  loved  his  songs.  In 
his  life  and  in  his  songs  there  was  a  gentleness, 
a  sweetness,  a  pathos,  that  touched  every  heart. 
"  The  strange,  the  dear  old  poet,"  they  called  him. 
Evening  was  coming  on.  The  birds  made  no 
noise ;  only  the  whippoorwill  repeated  over  and 
over  again  its  melancholy  refrain  in  the  marsh  be 
yond  the  meadow.  The  brook  ran  slowly,  and 
its  voice  was  so  hushed  and  tiny  that  you  might 

*  The  music  arranged  by  Mr.  Theodore  Thomas. 


23o  PROFITABLE   TALES 

have  thought  that  it  was  saying  its  prayers  before 
going  to  bed. 

The  old  poet  came  to  the  three  lindens.  This 
was  a  spot  he  loved,  it  was  so  far  from  the  noise 
of  the  town.  The  grass  under  the  lindens  was 
fresh  and  velvety.  The  air  was  full  of  fragrance, 
for  here  amid  the  grass  grew  violets  and  daisies 
and  buttercups  and  other  modest  wild-flowers. 
Under  the  lindens  stood  old  Leeza,  the  witch-wife. 

"  Take  this,"  said  the  poet  to  old  Leeza,  the 
witch-wife ;  and  he  gave  her  a  silver  piece. 

"  You  are  good  to  me,  master  poet,"  said  the 
witch- wife.  "  You  have  always  been  good  to  me. 
I  do  not  forget,  master  poet,  I  do  not  forget." 

"  Why  do  you  speak  so  strangely?  "  asked  the 
old  poet.  "  You  mean  more  than  you  say.  Do 
not  jest  with  me ;  my  heart  is  heavy  with  sorrow." 

"  I  do  not  jest,"  answered  the  witch-wife.  "  I 
will  show  you  a  strange  thing.  Do  as  I  bid  you ; 
tarry  here  under  the  lindens,  and  when  the  moon 
rises  the  Seven  Crickets  will  chirp  thrice;  then 
the  Raven  will  fly  into  the  west,  and  you  will  see 
wonderful  things,  and  beautiful  things  you  will 
hear." 

Saying  this  much,  old  Leeza,  the  witch-wife, 
stole  away,  and  the  poet  marvelled  at  her  words. 
He  had  heard  the  townspeople  say  that  old  Leeza 
was  full  of  dark  thoughts  and  of  evil  deeds,  but 
he  did  not  heed  these  stones. 

"They    say   the   same   of   me,   perhaps,"  he 


THE  FAIRIES   OF  PEST  PI  231 

thought.  "  I  will  tarry  here  beneath  the  three 
lindens  and  see  what  may  come  of  this  whereof 
the  witch-wife  spake." 

The  old  poet  sat  amid  the  grass  at  the  foot  of 
the  three  lindens,  and  darkness  fell  around  him. 
He  could  see  the  lights  in  the  town  away  off ;  they 
twinkled  like  the  stars  that  studded  the  sky.  The 
whippoorwill  told  his  story  over  and  over  again 
in  the  marsh  beyond  the  meadow,  and  the  brook 
tossed  and  talked  in  its  sleep,  for  it  had  played  too 
hard  that  day. 

' '  The  moon  is  rising, ' '  said  the  old  poet.  ' '  Now 
we  shall  see." 

The  moon  peeped  over  the  tops  of  the  far-off 
hills.  She  wondered  whether  the  world  was  fast 
asleep.  She  peeped  again.  There  could  be  no 
doubt;  the  world  was  fast  asleep  —  at  least  so 
thought  the  dear  old  moon.  So  she  stepped  boldly 
up  from  behind  the  distant  hills.  The  stars  were 
glad  that  she  came,  for  she  was  indeed  a  merry 
old  moon. 

The  Seven  Crickets  lived  in  the  hedge.  They 
were  brothers,  and  they  made  famous  music. 
When  they  saw  the  moon  in  the  sky  they  sang 
"chirp-chirp,  chirp-chirp,  chirp-chirp,"  three 
times,  just  as  old  Leeza,  the  witch-wife,  said  they 
would. 

"  Whirr-r-r!"  It  was  the  Raven  flying  out  of 
the  oak-tree  into  the  west.  This,  too,  was  what 
the  old  witch-wife  had  foretold.  "Whirr-r-r" 


232  PROFITABLE   TALES 

went  the  two  black  wings,  and  then  it  seemed  as  if 
the  Raven  melted  into  the  night.  Now  this  was 
strange  enough,  but  what  followed  was  stranger 
still. 

Hardly  had  the  Raven  flown  away  when  out 
from  their  habitations  in  the  moss,  the  flowers, 
and  the  grass  trooped  a  legion  of  fairies  —  yes, 
right  there  before  the  old  poet's  eyes  appeared, 
as  if  by  magic,  a  mighty  troop  of  the  dearest  little 
fays  in  all  the  world. 

Each  of  these  fairies  was  about  the  height  of  a 
cambric-needle.  The  lady  fairies  were,  of  course, 
not  so  tall  as  the  gentleman  fairies,  but  all  were 
of  quite  as  comely  figure  as  you  could  expect  to 
find  even  among  real  folk.  They  were  quaintly 
dressed;  the  ladies  wearing  quilted  silk  gowns 
and  broad-brim  hats  with  tiny  feathers  in  them, 
and  the  gentlemen  wearing  curious  little  knicker 
bockers,  with  silk  coats,  white  hose,  ruffled  shirts, 
and  dainty  cocked  hats. 

"  If  the  witch-wife  had  not  foretold  it  I  should 
say  that  I  dreamed,"  thought  the  old  poet.  But 
he  was  not  frightened.  He  had  never  harmed 
the  fairies,  therefore  he  feared  no  evil  from  them. 

One  of  the  fairies  was  taller  than  the  rest,  and 
she  was  much  more  richly  attired.  It  was  not 
her  crown  alone  that  showed  her  to  be  the  queen. 
The  others  made  obeisance  to  her  as  she  passed 
through  the  midst  of  them  from  her  home  in  the 
bunch  of  red  clover.  Four  dainty  pages  preceded 


THE  FAIRIES   OF  PESTH  233 

her,  carrying  a  silver  web  which  had  been  spun  by 
a  black-and-yellow  garden-spider  of  great  renown. 
This  silver  web  the  four  pages  spread  carefully 
over  a  violet-leaf,  and  thereupon  the  queen  sat 
down.  And  when  she  was  seated  the  queen  sang 
this  little  song : 

"  From  the  land  of  murk  and  mist 

Fairy  folk  are  coming 
To  the  mead  the  dew  has  kissed, 
And  they  dance  where'er  they  list 

To  the  crickets'  thrumming. 

"  Circling  here  and  circling  there, 
Light  as  thought  and  free  as  air, 
Hear  them  cry,  '  Oho,  oho,' 
As  they  round  the  rosy  go. 

"  Appleblossom,  Summerdew, 

Thistleblow,  and  Ganderfeather ! 
Join  the  airy  fairy  crew 

Dancing  on  the  sward  together ! 
Till  the  cock  on  yonder  steeple 

Gives  all  faery  lusty  warning, 
Sing  and  dance,  my  little  people — 

Dance  and  sing  '  Oho '  till  morning !  " 

The  four  little  fairies  the  queen  called  to  must 
have  been  loitering.  But  now  they  came  scam 
pering  up  —  Ganderfeather  behind  the  others,  for 
he  was  a  very  fat  and  presumably  a  very  lazy  little 
fairy. 

"The  elves  will  be  here  presently,"  said  the 
queen,  "  and  then,  little  folk,  you  shall  dance  to 


234  PROFITABLE    TALES 

your  heart's  content.  Dance  your  prettiest  to 
night,  for  the  good  old  poet  is  watching  you." 

"  Ah,  little  queen,"  cried  the  old  poet,  "  you 
see  me,  then?  I  thought  to  watch  your  revels 
unbeknown  to  you.  But  I  meant  you  no  disre 
spect —  indeed,  I  meant  you  none,  for  surely  no 
one  ever  loved  the  little  folk  more  than  I." 

"  We  know  you  love  us,  good  old  poet,"  said 
the  little  fairy  queen,  "  and  this  night  shall  give 
you  great  joy  and  bring  you  into  wondrous  fame." 

These  were  words  of  which  the  old  poet  knew 
not  the  meaning;  but  we,  who  live  these  many 
years  after  he  has  fallen  asleep  —  we  know  the 
meaning  of  them. 

Then,  surely  enough,  the  elves  came  trooping 
along.  They  lived  in  the  farther  meadow,  else 
they  had  come  sooner.  They  were  somewhat 
larger  than  the  fairies,  yet  they  were  very  tiny 
and  very  delicate  creatures.  The  elf  prince  had 
long  flaxen  curls,  and  he  was  arrayed  in  a  won 
derful  suit  of  damask  web,  at  the  manufacture  of 
which  seventy-seven  silkworms  had  labored  for 
seventy-seven  days,  receiving  in  payment  there 
for  as  many  mulberry-leaves  as  seven  blue  beetles 
could  carry  and  stow  in  seven  times  seven  sunny 
days.  At  his  side  the  elf  prince  wore  a  sword 
made  of  the  sting  of  a  yellow-jacket,  and  the  hilt 
of  this  sword  was  studded  with  the  eyes  of  un- 
hatched  dragon-flies,  these  brighter  and  more  pre 
cious  than  the  most  costly  diamonds. 


THE  FAIRIES   OF  PESTH  235 

The  elf  prince  sat  beside  the  fairy  queen.  The 
other  elves  capered  around  among  the  fairies. 
The  dancing-sward  was  very  light,  for  a  thousand 
and  ten  glow-worms  came  from  the  marsh  and 
hung  their  beautiful  lamps  over  the  spot  where 
the  little  folk  were  assembled.  If  the  moon  and 
the  stars  were  jealous  of  that  soft,  mellow  light, 
they  had  good  reason  to  be. 

The  fairies  and  elves  circled  around  in  lively 
fashion.  Their  favorite  dance  was  the  ring-round- 
a-rosy  which  many  children  nowadays  dance.  But 
they  had  other  measures,  too,  and  they  danced 
them  very  prettily. 

"  I  wish,"  said  the  old  poet — "  I  wish  that  I 
had  my  violin  here,  for  then  I  would  make  merry 
music  for  you." 

The  fairy  queen  laughed.  "  We  have  music  of 
our  own,"  she  said,  "  and  it  is  much  more  beauti 
ful  than  even  you,  dear  old  poet,  could  make." 

Then,  at  the  queen's  command,  each  gentleman 
elf  offered  his  arm  to  a  lady  fairy,  and  each  gen 
tleman  fairy  offered  his  arm  to  a  lady  elf,  and  so, 
all  being  provided  with  partners,  these  little  peo 
ple  took  their  places  for  a  waltz.  The  fairy  queen 
and  the  elf  prince  were  the  only  ones  that  did  not 
dance ;  they  sat  side  by  side  on  the  violet-leaf  and 
watched  the  others.  The  hop-toad  was  floor- 
manager  ;  the  green  burdock  badge  on  his  breast 
showed  that. 

"Mind  where  you  go  —  don't  jostle   one  an- 


236  PROFITABLE   TALES 

other,"  cried  the  hop-toad,  for  he  was  an  exceed 
ingly  methodical  fellow,  despite  his  habit  of  jump 
ing  at  conclusions. 

Then,  when  all  was  ready,  the  Seven  Crickets 
went  "  chirp-chirp,  chirp-chirp,  chirp-chirp," 
three  times,  and  away  flew  that  host  of  little 
fairies  and  little  elves  in  the  daintiest  waltz  imag 
inable  : 

^Allegretto  moderate. 

ttfr^^ttni^F 


The  old  poet  was  delighted.  Never  before  had 
he  seen  such  a  sight ;  never  before  had  he  heard 
so  sweet  music.  Round  and  round  whirled  the 
sprite  dancers  ;  the  thousand  and  ten  glow-worms 
caught  the  rhythm  of  the  music  that  floated  up  to 
them,  and  they  swung  their  lamps  to  and  fro  in 
time  with  the  fairy  waltz.  The  plumes  in  the 
hats  of  the  cunning  little  ladies  nodded  hither  and 
thither,  and  the  tiny  swords  of  the  cunning  little 
gentlemen  bobbed  this  way  and  that,  as  the  throng 


THE  FAIRIES   OF  PESTH 


237 


of  dancers  swept  now  here,  now  there.  With 
one  tiny  foot,  upon  which  she  wore  a  lovely  shoe 
made  of  a  tanned  flea's  hide,  the  fairy  queen  beat 
time,  yet  she  heard  every  word  which  the  gallant 
elf  prince  said.  So,  with  the  fairy  queen  blushing, 
the  mellow  lamps  swaying,  the  elf  prince  wooing, 
and  the  throng  of  little  folk  dancing  hither  and 
thither,  the  fairy  music  went  on  and  on : 


"  Tell  me,  my  fairy  queen,"  cried  the  old  poet, 
"  whence  comes  this  fairy  music  which  I  hear? 
The  Seven  Crickets  in  the  hedge  are  still,  the 
birds  sleep  in  their  nests,  the  brook  dreams  of  the 
mountain  home  it  stole  away  from  yester  morning. 
Tell  me,  therefore,  whence  comes  this  wondrous 


238  PROFITABLE   TALES 

fairy  music,  and  show  me  the  strange  musicians 
that  make  it." 


"  Look  to  the  grass  and  the  flowers,"  said  the 
fairy  queen.  "  In  every  blade  and  in  every  bud 
lie  hidden  notes  of  fairy  music.  Each  violet  and 
daisy  and  buttercup  —  every  modest  wild-flower 
(no  matter  how  hidden)  gives  glad  response  to  the 
tinkle  of  fairy  feet.  Dancing  daintily  over  this 


THE  FAIRIES   OF  PESTH 


239 


quiet  sward  where  flowers  dot  the  green,  my  little 
people  strike  here  and  there  and  everywhere  the 
keys  which  give  forth  the  harmonies  you  hear." 

Long  marvelled  the  old  poet.  He  forgot  his 
sorrow,  for  the  fairy  music  stole  into  his  heart  and 
soothed  the  wound  there.  The  fairy  host  swept 
round  and  round,  and  the  fairy  music  went  on 
and  on. 


"  Why  may  I  not  dance?  "  asked  a  piping  voice. 
Please,  dear  queen,  may  I  not  dance,  too?  " 
It  was  the  little  hunchback  that  spake  —  the  little 


240  PROFITABLE   TALES 

hunchback  fairy  who,  with  wistful  eyes,  had  been 
watching  the  merry  throng  whirl  round  and  round. 

"  Dear  child,  thou  canst  not  dance,"  said  the 
fairy  queen,  tenderly ;  "thy  little  limbs  are  weak. 
Come,  sit  thou  at  my  feet,  and  let  me  smooth  thy 
fair  curls  and  stroke  thy  pale  cheeks." 

"  Believe  me,  dear  queen,"  persisted  the  little 
hunchback,  "  I  can  dance,  and  quite  prettily,  too. 
Many  a  time  while  the  others  made  merry  here  I 
have  stolen  away  by  myself  to  the  brookside  and 
danced  alone  in  the  moonlight  —  alone  with  my 
shadow.  The  violets  are  thickest  there.  '  Let  thy 
halting  feet  fall  upon  us,  Little  Sorrowful,'  they 
whispered,  '  and  we  shall  make  music  for  thee.» 
So  there  I  danced,  and  the  violets  sang  their  songs 
for  me.  I  could  hear  the  others  making  merry  far 
away,  but  I  was  merry  too ;  for  I,  too,  danced, 
and  there  was  none  to  laugh." 

"  If  you  would  like  it,  Little  Sorrowful,"  said 
the  elf  prince,  "  I  will  dance  with  you." 

"  No,  brave  prince,"  answered  the  little  hunch 
back,  "  for  that  would  weary  you.  My  crutch  is 
stout,  and  it  has  danced  with  me  before.  You 
will  say  that  we  dance  very  prettily  —  my  crutch 
and  I  —  and  you  will  not  laugh,  I  know." 

Then  the  queen  smiled  sadly;  she  loved  the 
little  hunchback  and  she  pitied  her. 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  wish,"  said  the  queen. 
The  little  hunchback  was  overjoyed. 

"  I  have  to  catch  the  time,  you  see,"  said  she, 


THE  FAIRIES   OF  PEST II  241 

and  she  tapped  her  crutch  and  swung  one  little 
shrunken  foot  till  her  body  fell  into  the  rhythm 
of  the  waltz. 

Far  daintier  than  the  others  did  the  little  hunch 
back  dance ;  now  one  tiny  foot  and  now  the  other 
tinkled  on  the  flowers,  and  the  point  of  the  little 
crutch  fell  here  and  there  like  a  tear.  And  as  she 
danced  there  crept  into  the  fairy  music  a  tenderer 
cadence,  for  (I  know  not  why)  the  little  hunchback 
danced  ever  on  the  violets,  and  their  responses 
were  full  of  the  music  of  tears.  There  was  a 
strange  pathos  in  the  little  creature's  grace ;  she 
did  not  weary  of  the  dance ;  her  cheeks  flushed, 
and  her  eyes  grew  fuller,  and  there  was  a  won 
drous  light  in  them.  And  as  the  little  hunchback 
danced,  the  others  forgot  her  limp  and  felt  only 
the  heart-cry  in  the  little  hunchback's  merriment 
and  in  the  music  of  the  voiceful  violets. 


242  PROFITABLE    TALES 

Now  all  this  saw  the  old  poet,  and  all  this 
wondrously  beautiful  music  he  heard.  And  as 
he  heard  and  saw  these  things,  he  thought  of  the 
pale  face,  the  weary  eyes,  and  the  tired  little  body 
that  slept  forever  now.  He  thought  of  the  voice 
that  had  tried  to  be  cheerful  for  his  sake,  of  the 
thin,  patient  little  hands  that  had  loved  to  do  his 
bidding,  of  the  halting  little  feet  that  had  hastened 
to  his  calling. 

"Is  it  thy  spirit,  O  my  love?"  he  wailed. 
"  Is  it  thy  spirit,  O  dear,  dead  love?  " 

A  mist  came  before  his  eyes,  and  his  heart 
gave  a  great  cry. 

But  the  fairy  dance  went  on  and  on.  The  others 
swept  to  and  fro  and  round  and  round,  but  the 
little  hunchback  danced  always  on  the  violets, 
and  through  the  other  music  there  could  be  plainly 
heard,  as  it  crept  in  and  out,  the  mournful  cadence 
of  those  tenderer  flowers. 

And,  with  the  music  and  the  dancing,  the  night 
faded  into  morning.  And  all  at  once  the  music 
ceased  and  the  little  folk  could  be  seen  no  more. 
The  birds  came  from  their  nests,  the  brook  began 
to  bestir  himself,  and  the  breath  of  the  new-born 
day  called  upon  all  in  that  quiet  valley  to  awaken. 

So  many  years  have  passed  since  the  old  poet, 
sitting  under  the  three  lindens  half  a  league  the 
other  side  of  Pesth,  saw  the  fairies  dance  and 
heard  the  fairy  music— so  many  years  have  passed 
since  then  that  had  the  old  poet  not  left  us  an 


THE  FAIRIES   OF  PESTH  243 

echo  of  that  fairy  waltz  there  would  be  none  now 
to  believe  the  story  I  tell. 


Who  knows  but  that  this  very  night  the  elves 
and  the  fairies  will  dance  in  the  quiet  valley ;  that 
Little  Sorrowful  will  tinkle  her  maimed  feet  upon 
the  singing  violets,  and  that  the  little  folk  will 
illustrate  in  their  revels,  through  which  a  tone 
of  sadness  steals,  the  comedy  and  pathos  of  our 
lives?  Perhaps  no  one  shall  see,  perhaps  no  one 
else  ever  did  see,  these  fairy  people  dance  their 
pretty  dances  ;  but  we  who  have  heard  old  Robert 
Volkmann's  waltz  know  full  well  that  he,  at  least, 
saw  that  strange  sight  and  heard  that  wondrous 
music. 

And  you  will  know  so,  too,  when  you  have  read 
this  true  story  and  heard  old  Volkmann's  claim  to 
immortality. 

1887. 


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